I 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN 


BY 


BERTHA  M.  CLAY, 

AUTHOR  OF 

•DORA  TBORUE,"  "THE  EARLE'S  ATONEMENT,"  "FOILED  BY  LOVING, 
ETC.,  ETC. 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE    BROTHERS, 
407-429  DEARBORN  ST. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN, 


CHAPTER  L 

THE      LEGACY. 

"  It  is  true,  Kate — every  word  of  it.  I  was,  like  you,  in- 
credulous at  first ;  but  I  heard  the  will  read,  and  I  assure 
you  that  Mrs.  Hardman  hao  left  me  six  thousand  pounds." 

"I  cannot  believe  it,  Darcy.  Seehow  rry  hands  tremble. 
I  have  hardly  the  strength  to  speak.  It  is  impossible. 
Six  thousand  pounds !  Oh,  Darcy,  if  there  should  be  any 
mistake,  let  me  know  it  at  once,  before  I  begin  to  found 
any  hopes  upon  such  good  fortune — before  I  take  it  into 
my  heart  of  hearts  as  a  truth." 

"My  dear  Kate,  there  is  no  mistake — there  can  be  no 
mistake.  I  should  not  have  told  you  had  there  been  the 
least  probability  of  such  a  thing.  The  money  is  our  own, 
and  will  be  paid  to  us  when  the  estate  is  settled." 

"Six  thousand  pounds!  Why,  Darcy,  that  means  three 
hundred  a  year,  does  it  not?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Darcy  Lonsdale,  "properly  in- 
vested." 

"And  three  hundred  a  year  means  freedom  from  anxiety, 
trom  the  constant  toil  of  trying  to  make  both  ends  meet.  It 
means  a  larger  and  better  house,  a  tfoveniess  for  t ho  chil- 
dren. Oh.  R-ii-ey.  how  ran  we  be  thankfnl  enough  f 

"My  dear  Kate,'1  said  the  lawyer,  s:mp]y,  "I  assure  you 
that  for  some  time  after  I  had  heard  it  I  did  not  know  how 
I  felt.  The  most  pleasant  part  of  it  was  coining  homo  to 
tell  vou.  I  knew  how  deli-bled  YOU  would  be." 

"  ilave  you  told  Felix '{"  asked  the  anxious  wife. 


2135140 


6  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

u  No ;  I  have  not  seen  him  yet.  He  is  gone  over  to  Nun 
combe  He  will  be  pleased.  I  can  take  him  into  partner- 
ship now.  which  is  a  thing  that  I  have  long  wished  to  do. 
We  have  had  a  hard  struggle  together,  Kate,  but  it  is  al- 
most over  now.  I  should  not  have  believed  that  money 
could  make  such  a  difference  in  any  one's  sensations. 
•!-day  I  felt  that  the  world  was  my  master;  to-day  I 
feel  that  I  have  mastered  the  world." 

"  We  shall  be  able  to  go  to  the  sea-side  now,  and  you  can 
take  a  rest  occasionally ;  and  we  can  get  some  good  port 
wine  for  little  Nellie." 

The  lawyer  smiled. 

"And  my  bonnie  Kate  shall  have  a  superb  dress, "  ho 
said,  "one  that  shall  make  her  look  young  and  beautiful 
to  others  as  sh:  does  to  me.  In  truth,  Kate,  I  see  no  end 
to  the  relief,  the  ease,  the  happiness,  that  this  unlocked 
for  legacy  gives  us." 

4>We  must  take  Vale  House;  it  is  to  be  let,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Lons'lale.  "  It  is  just  such  a  house  as  I  always  longed 
for;  it  is  so  large,  so  convenient,  and  has  a  much  better 
drawing-room  than  that  of  the  Mertons.  What  do  you 
think,  Darcy  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  think  we  might  take  Vale  House.  I  will  go  out 
to-day,  and  inquire  about  the  rent,  rates,  and  taxes." 

"What  will  Mrs.  Merton  say?"  mused  Mrs.  Lonsdale. 

"  Never  mind  about  that,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  All  that 
we  have  to  do  is  to  enjoy  our  good  fortune.  I  really  do 
not  know,  but  I  think  that  such  a  sum  of  money  never 
made  people  so  happy  before.  Kiss  me,  Kate,  and  we  will 
not  forget  to  thank  Heaven  together. ' ' 

The  speakers  were  Darcy  Lonsdale  and  his  wife.  Darcy 
Lonsdale  was  the  principal  lawyer  in  the  clean  and  well- 
built  town  of  Lilford  in  Loomshire — a  man  who  had  had  a 
hard  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  the  world.  He  had  been 
twice  married.  His  first  wife  died  in  her  twentieth  ye«r, 
leaving  an  only  son,  Felix ;  and  ten  years  afterward  ihe 
lawyer  married  again.  His  second  wife  was  a  blithe, 
bonnie,  rosy  girl  who  loved  him  with  all  her  heart,  a-nd 
thought  no  one  in  the  wide  world  so  clever,  so  great,  or  so 
good.  For  his  sake  she  took  little  Felix  to  her  heart,  and 
loved  the  dark-haired,  handsome  boy  as  much  as  she  did 
her  own  children.  The  lawyer's  one  drawback  was  his 
large  family;  nearly  every  year  a  pretty,  rosy,  smiling 
baby  appeared,  until,  as  he  pleasantly  declared,  he  had 
ceased  to  count  them,  for  their  mimber  frightened  him. 
"small  army"  he  called  them;  and,  though  he  was 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  7 

proud  of  them  and  fond  of  them,  though  he  would  not  have 
missed  one  fair  head  from  the  circle  for  the  whole  world, 
yet  the  number  told  upon  him — he  could  not  save  money, 
ikl  not  even  buy  a  house,  his  ingenuity  was  taxed  to 
make  both  ends  meet.  The  bills  were  so  numerous — little 
feet  must  be  shod,  little  fair  heads  must  be  covered,  little 
minds  trained  ;  and  nothing  could  be  done  without  money. 
Still  Darcy  Lonsdale  was  a  very  happy  man;  he  \. 
charming  wife,  beautiful  children,  a  good  practice,  and  ho 
liked  work.  The  one  pride  of  his  life  was  his  tall,  hand- 
some son,  Felix,  in  whom  the  honest,  simple-hearted  1. 
hail  concentrated  all  his  hopes  and  ambition.  The  "small 
army"  were  all  under  twelve,  so  that  he  oould  not  build 
any  hopes  on  them  at  present. 

ilis  life  had  on  the  whole  been  a  pleasant  one ;  but  he  did 
wish  at  times  that  he  had  a  little  more  money.  His  prac- 
tice was  a  good  one  ;  still  it  could  hardly  be  called  lucra- 
tive in  the  small  pleasant  town  of  Lilford.  There  was  not 
miK-h  to  occ\ipy  a  lawyer ;  the  setting  forth  and  renewal  of 
3,  the  drawing  up  of  title  deeds,  the  making  of  wills, 
the  framing  of  agreements,  composed  the  whole  of  his  busi- 
ness. 

Among  his  clients  was  an  eccentric  widow  lady,  named 
Martha  Hardman,    and   Darcy  Lonsdale  had  for    twenty 
been  her  faithful  friend,  adviser,  and  guide.  She  said 
to  him,  laughingly,  one  day: 

••You  will  have  something  to  thank  me  for  when  I  am 
dead." 

"How  can  I  thank  you  when  you  are  dead  ?"  he  asked. 
nodded  her  head  gravely. 

•  i  will  see,"  she  replied.    "You  have  done  everything 
for  me  since  you  began  to  practice  ;  but  I  shall  not  1>  • 
make  my  will.     Tell  me  whom  you  would  advise  me  to 
send  for  to  d« 

Thinking  that  she   was    in  a  capricious    mood,  he  an- 
cd  •. 

ud  for  George  Malcolm  ;  he  is  an  honest  laws  or  and 
an  honest  man.     But  why  not  let  me  make  your  will. 
Hardman?" 

"Because  I  am  going  to  leave  y<>u  something  in  it ;  and  I 
have  not  read  of  the  glorious  uncertainties  of  the  English 
law  for  so  many  years  without  wishing  to  be  on  the  safe 
side.  I  may  fail,  but  I  will  take  all  reasonable  precau- 
tions." 

He  laughed  at  the  time,  giving  little  heed  to  what  slm 
said,  and  soon  afterward  he  forgot  all  about  the  incident 


8  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Three  years  later  Mrs.  Hardman  died,  and  her  nephew,  her 
heir-at-law,  came  upon  the  scene.  Darcy  Lonsdaie  had  all 
her  papers,  an  exact  list  of  all  her  moneys,  her  deeds, 
leases,  documents  of  various  kinds — but  he  had  no  will. 

"  Did  she  make  a  will  ?"  asked  the  heir-at-law. 

"I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Darcy  Lonsdaie.  "I  have  cer- 
tainly drawn  up  no  will  for  her. ' ' 

"  Has  she  ever  mentioned  a  will  ?"  pursued  James  Hard- 
man. 

Suddenly  the  lawyer  remembered  that  she  had  men- 
tioned a  will,  and  his  face  flushed  as  he  thought  of  the 
conversation.  James  Hardman  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 

"  She  did  speak  of  her  will  to  me  once ;  she  told  me  that 
I  should  not  draw  it  up  for  her,  and  asked  me  to  name 
some  lawyer.  I  told  her  that  George  Malcolm  was  an  hon- 
est lawyer  and  an  honest  man ;  but  I  never  heard  whether 
she  sent  for  him  or  not." 

"You  know,  of  course,  of  what  her  property  consists, 
and  that  I  am  her  heir-at-law." 

"Yes,  "was  the  cheerful  reply;  "we  have  often  talked 
about  you.  I  can  give  you  the  particulars  of  the  late  Mrs. 
Hardman's  property.  She  owned  the  estate  called  Wood- 
burn,  consisting  of  a  large  farm  and  a  good  substantial 
house  ;  and  she  had,  besides  this,  twelve  thousand  pounds 
in  the  Funds." 

"  And  that  is,  of  course,  mine  ?"  said  James  Hardman. 

" I  know  nothing  as  to  that,"  replied  Darcy  Lonsdaie.  " I 
did  not  make  her  will,  nor  did  she  ever  ask  my  advice 
about  it. ' ' 

After  the  funeral  George  Malcolm  came  "with  the  will  and 
the  instructions  that  he  had  received  from  Mrs.  Hardman. 
It  was  read  aloud ;  and  then  it  was  discovered  that  the 
lady  had  left  Woodburn  and  six  thousand  pounds  to  her 
nephew,  James  Hardman,  while  to  her  true  friend  and 
adviser,  Darcy  Lonsdaie,  in  acknowledgment  of  his  long 
friendship  and  faithful  services,  she  had  bequeathed  the 
sum  of  six  thousand  pounds. 

On  hearing  that  the  lawyer  hurried  home,  delighted 
with  the  intelligence,  to  his  wife.  What  a  vista  of  com- 
fort this  legacy  opened  out  to  them  !  For  the  first  time  in 
his  long  honorable  career  the  lawyer  felt  some  relief — he 
could  meet  his  expenses  now,  and  when  he  died  there 
would  be  something  for  his  wife  and  children. 

Nor  was  his  wife  less  delighted.  In  her  heart  she  had 
longed  for  the  same  luxuries  that  the  wives  of  other  pro- 
fessional men  enjoyed — for  a  drawing-room  like  Mrs.  Mer 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  9 

ton's,  for  a  nursery  governess  such  as  the  doctor's  wife, 
Mrs.  Dalverley,  had  engaged,  for  a  silk  dress  like  the  one 
that  the  rector's  wife  wore.  But  of  these  desires  she  had 
never  spoken.  She  knew  that  her  husband  did  his  best  in 
every  possible  way,  and  gave  her  all  the  money  that  he 
could.  But  now  she  ventured  for  the  first  time  to  indulge 
in  such  blissful  reveries.  They  were  no  longer  idle  dreams ; 
they  would  be  realized.  She  would  live  in  Vale  House, 
that  delightful  residence — she  would  have  a  charming  draw- 
ing-room, a  nursery  governess,  and  a  costly  silk  dress. 

While  she  sat  dreaming  with  a  smile  on  her  face  her 
step-son,  Felix,  entered  the  room.  There  was  the  warmest 
attachment  between  these  two — kindly  liking  and  respect 
for  his  step-mother  on  his  part,  the  highest  admiration  and 
the  truest  love  for  a  step-son  on  hers.  She  was  so  young 
when  Darcy  Lonsdale  brought  her  to  the  great  white  square 
house  in  Castle  street,  Lilford,  that  it  seemed  absurd  for 
Felix  to  call  her  mother.  As  he  grew  older  it  appeared  to- 
him  that,  with  her  soft  Italian  beauty,  the  most  suitable 
title  for  her  was  madre.  He  looked  at  her  now. 

"J/ac?re,"  he  said,    "you  are  looking  very  pleased  and 
bright ;  what  is  the  good  news  ?" 

Mrs.  Lonsdale  went  up  to  him  and  clasped  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  She  drew  the  handsome  face  down  to  hers. 

"Kiss  me,  Felix,"  she  said;  "I  have  ne\vs  to  tell  you — 
the  best  you  have  ever  heard.  I  know  you  will  be  pleased 
— indeed  the  very  thought  of  the  news  makes  me  tremble 
with  joy.  You  could  never  guess  it,  Felix. " 

" I  suppose  I  never  could.  Have  any  of  the  'small  fry' 
distinguished  themselves?" 

"No;  it  is  nothing  of  that  kind.  It  is  this.  You  re- 
member Mrs.  Hardman,  of  Woodburn  ?" 

"I  should  remember  her,  madre ;  some  of  the  dreariest 
hours  of  my  life  nave  been  spent  in  copying  deeds  bearing 
her  name." 

"  My  dear  Felix,  her  name  must  be  held  blessed  among 
us  for  evermore.  She  has  left  your  father  a  legacy  of  six 
thousand  pounds — and  to  us,  my  dear,  that  means  so  much. 
It  means  Vale  House  to  live  in,  a  governess  for  the  chil- 
dren, and  a  partnership  for  you." 

His  handsome  face  flushed  hotly. 

"  Ami  that,  mudre — that  means  for  me  Violet  Have." 

A  tender  light  came  into  Kate  Lonsdale 's  clear  eyes. 

"I  hope  so,"  she  said,  gently ;  "  I  shall  be  so  pleased  if  it 
is  so.  Now,  Felix,  people  call  money  dross.  Could  you 


10  WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN. 

or  I  estimate  the  amount  of  happiness  that  lies  in  six  thou- 
sand pounds  ?" 

"  I  value  it  because  it  will  give  me  Violet, ' '  declared  the 
ardent  young  lover. 

"And  I  because  it  will  give  me  every  desire  of  my 
heart,"  said  Mrs.  Lonsdale.  "And,  above  all,  it  will  give 
your  dear  father  a  little  rest." 


CHAPTER  II. 

WOOING  VIOLET  HAYE. 

Violet  Haye  !  There  is  something  in  a  name.  More  than 
one  man  murmured  this  one  over  and  over  again,  won- 
dering to  himself  what  sweet  magic,  what  wonderful  sor- 
cery lay  in  it.  Violet  Haye — the  very  sound  evoked  a  vis- 
ion so  beautiful,  so  full  of  witching  grace,  so  dainty,  so 
delightful,  that  dwelling  on  it  proved  too  much  for  minds 
and  brains  not  overstrung.  What  had  not  Violet  Have  to 
answer  for  ?  How  many  prosperous  young  farmers  had 
wasted  the  best  hours  of  the  summer  days  while  the  hay 
spoiled  in  the  meadows  and  the  corn  grew  over-ripe  in  the 
fields,  watching  in  Castle  street,  or  waiting  in  the  green 
lanes,  for  one  glance  at  the  peerless  face  of  Violet  Haye? 
The  young  doctor,  who  had  bought  the  old  physician's 
practice  had  almost  gone  mad  for  love  of  her ;  and  when 
she  told  him,  with  a  sweet,  bright  smile,  that  she  disliked 
medicine  and  everything  connected  with  it,  in  pique  and 
despair  he  married  a  prim  little  old  maid  who  had  ceased  for 
u  years  to  dream  of  a  wedding-ring.  Young  curates 
came,  saw,  and  were  comquered  ;  but  beautiful  Violet  res- 
olutely refused  to  help  any  parish  work — she  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  schools.  One  after  another  the 
curates  went  away,  with  a  bitter  memory  of  one  of  the 
lovelist  girls  in  Loomshire.  The  young  tradesmen  of  the 
iilac^  had  never  dared  to  lift. their  eyes  to  her,  for  she  be- 
longed to  the  class  known  in  Lilford  as  the  gentry;  but 
when  by  chance  Violet  Haye  did  enter  a  shop  the  mas- 
ter of  it  had  need  of  patience  during  the  next  twenty-four 
hours,  for  Violet  Haye  was  a  most  beautiful  girl,  and 
reigned  queen  of  the  country  round  Lilford. 

There  was  a  wonderful  charm  about  the  girl.  It  was  not 
simply  for  the  sheen  of  her  golden  hair,  for  the  wonderful 
light  of  her  violet  eyes,  the  exquisite  tints  of  her  face,  the 
beauty  of  her  rosebud  mouth,  that  men  loved  her  so ;  it  was 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  11 

not  that  she  was  tall  and  slender,  with  a  perfect  figure ;  it 
was  not  that  she  had  white  hands  that  wove  wondrous 
spoils,  that  she  moved  with  grace  that  was  all  harmony,  that 
she  spoke  with  a  voice  sweeter  than  sweet  music ;  that, 
when  she  laughed,  the  silvery  chime  stirred  a  man's  heart 
like  the  sound  of  silver  bells  ;  it  was  not  for  this  that  men 

her.  She  was  not  a  flirt,  not  a  coquette — she  never, 
by  word  or  looks,  made  any  man  believe  that  she  loved 
him  ;  but  she  could  no  more  have  helped  the  way  she  had 
of  (/harming  men  than  she  could  have  helped  living.  She 

be  only  child  of  Francis  and  Margaret  Haye,  who  lived 
in  a  pretty  villa  called  the  Limes,  on  the  outskirts  of  Li  1  ford. 
By  kind  indulgence  the  Hayes  were  permitted  to  rank  with 

•ntry.  They  were  not  poor,  they  were  not  professionals  ; 
they  were  not  in  trade.  Francis  Haye  had  an  income 
that  kept  his  family  in  comfort,  but  it  would  cease  at  his 
death.  He  had  insured  his  life  for  the  benefit  of  his  wife 
and  child,  and  the  money  that  would  come  to  them  from 
that  insurance  was  all  that  he  had  to  leave  them  ;  still  they 
belonged  to  the  gentry.  It  was  not  a  numerous  cl; 
Li  1  ford,  and  was  by  no  means  to  be  identified  with  county 

'  v  ;  that  was  a  far-off  and  greater  glory — a  world  that 
even  beautiful  Violet  with  her  Greuze-like  face  had  never 

:  to  enter.  The  gentry  comprised  old  Colonel  Maddox 
and  )r  Mr-;.  Urownson.  a  widow  lady  with  a  daughter 

of  uncertain  age  ;  the  late  rector's  widow.  Mrs.  Uoulders; 
a  maiden  lady.  Miss  Stanley,  the  pride  of  whose  life  was 
that  her  second  cousin  had  married  a  baronet,  and  who,  in 

i'lence.  piqued  herself  on  her  high  connections,  and 

1  in  a  similar  way  of  the  aristocracy:  and  a  few 
others  of  the  same  caliber.  It  was  notf  a  brilliant  circle 
but  to  Violet  Haye  it  was  a  world. 

If,  of  her  numerous  lovers  she  preferred  one,  it  was  Felix 
It  was  an  old  story.      He  had  certainly  been  her 

from  the  early  agi  n.      He  had    never  thought 

of  anyone   else;  to    him   and    for   him  the  world  w. 
Violet.      In    the  sun'x  rays    shone    Violet;    the    birds 
•'Violet;"   no  sweet    (lower  bloomed    that    w 
she.     He  had  lived  with   this  one  thought;  he  had  studied 
•iled—  all  for  Violet,  hoping  that    the    day    would 
come    when    he    would  be    able  to  marry  her.     He    had  do 

life  to  this  one  ohjcct. 

Darcy  Lonsdalo  h.-id  contrived  to  <end  his  son  to  Oxford 
and  at  Oxford  he  had  distinguished  himself  as  a  scholar 
of  no  mean  abilities  ;  after  that  he  had  passed  some  time  in 
London ;  and  now  he  was  with  his  father,  sharing  h'  ' 


12  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

labors  and  toils,  and  working  hard,  hoping  one  day  to 
secure  a  partnership,  and  then  to  marry  Violet.  He  had 
once  thought  of  leaving  Lilford  ;  he  felt  that  the  place  was 
but  small,  the  circle  of  interests  limited.  Then  he  put 
aside  the  thought  as  a  temptation ;  he  mustn't  desert  his 
father  or  leave  his  business  to  the  hands  of  strangers. 
There  was  something  almost  heroic  in  the  way  in  which  he 
looked  round  upon  the  great  bright  glittering  world,  with 
its  magnificent  battle-fields  of  skill  and  intellect,  its  great 
arenas  where  mind  and  brain  fought  mind  and  brain,  and 
then  said  to  himself,  u  No,  my  duty  lies  at  home,  and  I  will 
work  there." 

He  was  singularly  gifted,  this  young  Englishman,  who 
was  brave  enough  to  make  duty  his  guide.  People  often 
looked  at  him  in  wonder,  asking  themselves  whence  had 
come  his  clear-cut  face — a  face  of  the  purest  type,  with 
dark  clustering  hair  that  waved  back  from  a  low,  broad 
brow — his  beautiful  mouth,  that  could  be  rigid  and  firm, 
yet  often  wore  a  smile  as  sweet  as  a  woman's,  the  dark 
eyes  that  were  as  true  and  eloquent  as  the  soul  they  re- 
vealed. It  was  a  poetical  face,  yet  combining  with  the  in- 
tellectual and  the  ideal  something  of  the  practical  keenness 
of  a  clever  man. 

Darcy  Lonsdale  formed  great  hopes  for  his  son ;  he  had 
rightly  estimated  his  abilities,  and  he  had  said  to  himself 
that  in  time  the  best  business  of  the  county  would  be 
brought  to  him.  He  himself  was  industrious,  honest,  and 
in  some  degree  a  good  laAvyer ;  but  his  son  was  a  genius, 
and  the  father  told  himself  with  a  sigh  that  in  these  days  a 
touch  of  genius  was  needed  before  one  could  make  a  mark 
in  the  world. 

As  boy,  youth,  and  man,  Felix  had  loved  Violet  Haye 
— to  win  her,  to  make  her  his  wife,  had  been  the  one  dream 
of  his  life.  He  had  had  no  other ;  and  it  was  equally  cer- 
tain that  up  to  the  present  time  his  love  had  brought  him 
far  more  pain  than  pleasure,  far  more  torment  than  rest, 
far  more  strife  than  peace.  He  could  never  tell  whether 
beautiful  Violet  cared  for  him  or  not — all  the  country-side 
knew  that  he  loved  her.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  very 
birds  in  the  trees  and  the  flowers  in  the  hedges  knew  that. 
It  had  never  been  a  secret ;  but  he  could  not  guess  whether 
she  cared  for  him.  If  ever  he  felt  hopeful  and  augured 
much  from  a  kinder  word  or  a  sweeter  smile  than  usual, 
the  next  time  she  saw  him  Violet  would  be  cold.  She  was 
BO  proud  that  he  could  hardly  extort  a  word  from  her ;  and 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  13 

yet  he  had  a  dim,  a  faint  conviction,  that  she  preferred  hm 
to  any  other. 

Now  was  his  opportunity.  He  was  already  making  a 
fair  income  by  writing  reviews  and  essays.  If  his  father 
took  him  into  partnership,  his  share,  though  perhaps  small 
at  first,  would  be  certain,  and  would  increase.  Now  was 
his  opportunity ;  he  would  delay  no  longer,  but  would  at 
once  ask  Violet  Haye  to  be  his  wife. 

"  It  seems  almost  too  good  to  be  true,"  he  thought  to 
himsolf,  "  that  I  should  succeed  in  my  profession,  that  I 
should  win  the  girl  I  love  for  my  wife,  that  I  should  be 
happy  and  blessed.  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it?"  He 
looked  up  to  the  sunlit  skies.  "Done, "he  repeated — "I 
have  done  nothing.  It  is  the  goodness  of  Heaven  that  has 
given  it  to  me.  Heaven  grants  all  to  industry,"  he 
thought,  "and  while  I  work  I  need  not  fear." 

In  that  hour  no  thought  came  to  him  of  the  storm-clouds 
that  darken  men's  lives — of  the  terrible  tempests  that 
rend  heart  and  brain — of  the  despair  that  looks  for  death  as 
a  relief.  He  saw  only  the  blue  sky  and  the  golden  sunshine. 

He  saw  nothing  but  the  beauty  of  the  fair  earth  and 
the  laughing  sky  when  he  went  to  woo  beautiful  Violet 
Haye  and  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  He  had  been  waiting 
only  until  he  saw  a  prospect  clear  and  bright  before  him. 
Francis  Haye  might  have  objected  to  a  man  with  an  un- 
certain future ;  Francis  Haye  would  not  object  to  the 
junior  partner  of  the  old-established  house  of  Lonsdale.  He 
was  only  twenty-four,  and,  after  selecting  a  very  choice 
flower  for  his  coat,  was  to  be  forgiven,  if  he  looked  once  at 
his  clear-cut  face  and  dark  mustache.  As  he  quitted  his 
father's  house  on  that  lovely  summer  afternoon  there  was 
perhaps  not  a  handsomer,  truer,  more  noble,  or  gallant 
younir  lo\-.-r  in  all  broad  England  than  Felix  Lonsdale. 

•  Wish  me  good  fortune,  nta<ln;"  he  said,  bending  to  kiss 
Kate  Lonsdale's  lovely  face — "I  am  going  to  the  Limes." 

Kate  looked  up  with  a  smile.  She  made  no  answer. 
She  kissed  him  as  his  own  mother  would  have  done,  and 
watched  him  as  he  walked  down  the  str> 

"There  is  no  need  to  wish  him  good  fortune,"  she  said  to 
herself ;  "  the  girl  does  not  live  who  would  say  '  No'  to  him. 

As  she  went  through  her  round  of  duties.  Mrs.  Lonsdale 
thought  often  and  anxiously  that  she  would  like  to  know 
how  Felix  was  speeding  in  his  wooing. 


H  WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN. 

CHAPTER  in. 

"l  HAVE  NOT    QUITE    PROMISED." 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon.  The  country  about  Lilford 
was  beautiful  in  the  extreme,  with  lovely  undulating 
meadows,  great  chain  of  green  hills  that  stretched  into  the 
far  distance,  dark  shady  woods  with  some  of  the  finest 
trees  in  England,  lovely  green  lanes  where  wild  flowers 
raised  their  bright  heads.  The  town  itself  was  quaint  and 
picturesque ;  the  pretty  old-fashioned  houses  were  almost- 
buried  in  foliage.  The  one  long  main  street  of  the  town — 
Castle  street — might  have  been  a  Parisian  boulevard,  it 
was  so  regularly  planted  with  trees. 

This  afternoon  seemed  to  Felix  Lonsdale  one  of  the  finest 
that  he  ever  remembered.  He  walked  through  the  clover 
meadows,  his  heart  singing  for  joy,  snatches  of  song  rising 
to  his  lips.  The  hedges  were  all  pink  and  white  with  haw- 
thorn, long  sprays  of  woodbine  twined  round  the  rugged 
trunks  of  the  tall  trees,  the  clover  was  thick  and  odorous. 
He  crossed  the  path  at  the  end  of  Oakwoods,  where  he  saw 
most  glorious  vistas  of  light  and  shade,  entered  a  long  green 
lane,  and  then  he  reached  the  fair  green  fields  that  led  to 
the  Limes,  the  home  of  his  love. 

Presently  he  saw  Violet  Have.  He  gazed  at  her  in  mute 
wonder  that  earth  should  hold  anything  so  fair.  She  car- 
ried a  little  basket  filled  with  flowers,  and  on  her  golden 
head  she  wore  a  simple  garden  hat.  Her  dress  seemed  to 
him  a  wonderful  combination  of  white  and  blue.  A  feeling 
of  humility  came  over  him — who  was  he  that  he  should 
hope  to  win  this  brilliant  young  beauty  and  make  her  his 
own  ?  Then  his  pride  reasserted  itself  ;  his  love  ennobled 
him ;  he  could  hope  to  win  her  because  he  loved  her  so 
dearly.  Violet  did  not  see  him.  She  was  walking  in  the 
other  direction,  and  he  hastened  after  her. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  he  loved  her ;  the  smiles  with 
which  she  greeted  him  would  have  turned  many  a  wisej 
brain  than  his. 

" Felix, "she  cried,  " I  did  not  dream  of  seeing  you." 

"And  seeing  you,  Violet,  is  like  a  dream,"  he  replied, 
"and  after  I  have  left  you  I  think  of  a  hundred  things  that 
I  wanted  to  say  to  you,  and  meant  to  say,  and  yet  forgot. " 

"That   proves  that  you  have  a  bad    memory,    Felix,* 

I 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  IS 

laughed  Violet ;  " but  what  has  brought  you  to  the  Lnnea 

on  this  warm  afternoon?" 

"I  have  come  to  see  you,  Violet." 

"I  ought  to  be  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  replied  ;  "buc 
the  afternoon  is  a,  very  busy  time  with  me.  I  attend  to  all 

(lowers  myself." 

"I  will  help  you  with  the.  flowers,  and  I  hope  that  I  shall 
be  no  obstacle  to  your  pleasant  thoughts,  Violet,"  he  said. 

They  walked  together  until  they  readied  an  opening  in 
the  1  :s\-n  ;  there  was  a  bank  gay  with  wild  Mowers,  a  hedge 
full  of  wild  roses,  and  hawthorns  crowned  it.  Felix  took 
the  basket  from  her  hand  and  placed  her  on  the  bank. 

"1  have  come  to  talk  to  you,  Violet,"  he  said.   "You  must 

forget  your  flowers  for  a  few  minutes  and    listen   to  me. 

Such  a  day  as  this,   Violet,   was  made   for  a,  love-story.      I 

an   idea  that  everything  in  nature  is  interested   in 

mine." 

"Your  ideas  are  not  of  the  ordinary  kind,"  she  remarked. 
''No.  tl icy  are  not,  I  own.     Still  they  please   me,  Violet. 
I  have  %  sweet  fancy,     Shakespeare  says  all   sweet  fancies 
L'ome  to  lovers.'' 

"But  we  are  not  lovers,  Felix,"  she  said,  gravely. 
"Then  I  hope  we  soon  shall  be.     I  have   a   fancy,  Violet, 
that  every  bird  singing  in  the  trees  knows  why    1  am  here, 
chat  the  (lowers  and  the  sunshine  know  it." 
"Then,"  observed  Violet,  "they  are  wiser  than  I." 
"No,  not  wiser  or  sweeter  or   brighter  than   you;  but  it 
>i  idle,  pretty  fancy,  Violet.      As    1    walked  under  the 
shady  trees  every  leaf  seemed  to  stir— as   l    j. 
the  roses  in  the  hedges  nodded  ;  they  said,  'The  sun    shines 
and  the  earth  is  fair:  now  is  the  time  for  youth  and  ! 
Violet,  looked  up  at  him  with  a  resigned  little  sigh. 
"  Not  being  either  a  bird  or  a.  llov.  not   in  their 

confidence,    Felix  ;  and    perhaps    when    you    have    finished 
\vitli  them  you  will  tell  me  what  you  have  to  say." 

"I  will  tell  you  now.  I  have  such  good  news,  Violet. 
Mrs.  llardman,  one  of  my  father's  clients,  lias  left  him  six 
thousand  pounds." 

Violet's  violet  :-yes  opened  wide  in  wonder. 
"Six  thousand  pounds  !     That  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  is 
it  not,  Felix  P' 

"Yes,  a  very  great  deal.  You  know  my  father  has  an 
excellent  business,  but  he  did  certainly  want  a  little  more 
money.  This  legacy  has  made  him  happier  than  I  can  tell 
you." 


16  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  I  should  not  think  that  money  would  make  any  one 
happy,"  said  Violet,  thoughtfully. 

''  No,  it  would  not.  Never  hold  with  that  idea,  Violet. 
But  this  is  the  important  thing— my  father  will  now  give 
me  a  partnership.  My  darling,  do  you  understand — a 
partnership  ?" 

"Yes,  Felix— what  then?" 

"  I  have  one  hundred  a  year  that  my  dear  mother  left 
me ;  I  make  quite  another  by  reviews  and  articles  for  legal 
papers — that  makes  two  hundred  ;  then  from  the  business  I 
am  sure  to  obtain  at  least  three  hundred  more — that  will 
give  me  five  hundred  a  year,  Violet;  and,  my  darling, 
there  is  a  beautiful  little  cottage  orne  near  Oakwoods ;  and, 
oh,  Violet,  Violet,  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  My  darling,  you 
know  how  long  and  how  faithfully  I  have  loved  you.  I 
have  come  to-day  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife. " 

Her  white  hands  dropped  listlessly ;  she  turned  her  face 
to  his ;  no  warm  flush  covered  it,  no  love-light  shone  in  the 
violet  eyes. 

"How  cruel  of  you,"  she  said,  in  soft,  lingering  tones — 
""how  very  cruel  on  this  sunny  day  to  ask  me  such  a  ques- 
tion !" 

There  was  no  anger  in  her  face,  no  annoyance — nor  was 
there  pleasure  or  happiness ;  she  looked  rather  like  a  child 
who  had  been  disturbed  at  play.  He  was  neither  anxious 
nor  dismayed,  for  he  understood  the  expression  on  her  face 
well. 

"  Why  is  it  cruel,  Violet  ?"  he  asked. 

u  It  is  cruel.  You  know  I  do  not  want  to  be  married, 
Felix.  I  do  not  like  being  teased  about  love. " 

"  But,  my  darling,  no  one  can  look  at  you  and  not  love 
you. " 

"  That  is  not  my  fault.  And,  Felix,  you  should  not  call 
me  'darling ;'  do  you  not  know  that  is  hardly  proper?" 

"  If  I  knew  a  word  that  conveyed  more,  and  sounded 
more  sweetly,  I  should  use  it,"  he  said,  looking  with  pas- 
donate  admiration  at  the  pure,  perfect  face.  u  Oh,  Violet, 
do  accept  me.  No  one  else  in  the  wide  world  loves  you  half 
so  much.  I  would  make  you  so  happy  that  you  would  never 
regret  it." 

"I  am  very  happy  now,"  she  murmured,  plaintively. 

"That  little  cottage  orne  is  so  pretty,  Violet.  There  is  a 
charming  drawing-room  that  opens  on  to  a  flower  garden — 
imagine  that  all  furnished  in  white  and  gold ;  then  there  is 
a  little  room  up  stairs  I  should  furnish  as  a  boudoir  for  you 
— a  room  that  would  be  a  fitting  shrine  for  my  pearl  of 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  17 

pearls.  My  darling,  you  should  have  everything  that  your 
heart  desires. " 

She  touched  his  face  gently  with  her  dainty  hands. 

"  You  would  buy  the  moon  for  me  if  I  wanted  it,  and  you 
could  obtain  it,"  she  said,  laughingly.  "But,  Felix,  I  do 
not  want  the  moon,  and  I  do  not  want  to  be  married.  Do 
talk  of  something  more  pleasant." 

"  Violet,  my  heart  is  so  full  of  this ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  I 
came  along  that  I  walked  on  air.  I  have  loved  you  so 
long  ;  I  have  no  life  apart  from  you  ;  and  I  have  been  wait- 
ing so  impatiently  until  I  could  see  a  chance  of  making  a 
beautiful  home  for  you.  Now,  I  see  it — do  not  be  cruel  to 
me,  Violet,  I  implore  you." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  cruel  to  shadow  this  fair  day  by  talk- 
ing of  love  and  marriage,  Felix." 

The  words  sounded  hard  and  cold,  but  there  was  no  cold- 
ness on  her  fair  face. 

"  You  know  that  I  have  loved  you,  Violet,  ever  since  we 
were  children.'" 

11  Yes,  I  know  it.  I  should  know  it — you  tell  me  so  every 
day." 

u  And  you — you  have  had  admirers  of  every  kind,  I  be- 
dark  and  fair,  tall  and  short ;  but,  Violet,  you  love 
me  best,  do  you  not?" 

The  lovely  face  drooped  over  a  bunch  of  wild  thyme.  She 
did  not  answer ;  but  he  persisted  in  his  questioning. 

"  You  love  me  best,  do  you  not  ?  Oh,  my  darling,  be  ft 
little  kind  to  me  !" 

There  was  such  passionate  love  in  his  handsome  eyes, 
such  passionate  pain  in  his  face,  that  she  was  touched. 

"  Yes,  I  do  love  you,  Felix,"  she  said,  gently;  and  then 
she  looked  up  in  alarm.  He  had  clasped  her  hands  in  his 
and  covered  them  with  kisses;  his  dark  eyes  were  dim 
with  tears. 

"  <  >h,  my  love,"  he  cried,  "you  hold  my  heart  in  the  hol- 
low of  your  hand.  If  you  had  said  you  did  not  love  me,  the 
words  would  have  killed  me  as  surely  as  ever  a  man  was 
slain.  My  darling,  do  you  not  see  that  if  you  love  me  you 
must  of  necessity  be  my  wife  ?  You  must  of  necessity  be 
my  wife,"  repeated  Felix,  "or  what  is  the  use  of  love?" 

"It  is  pleasant,"  she  replied;  "still,  marriage — well, 
Felix,  you  will  laugh  if  I  tell  you  that  it  seems  to  me  like 
calling  a  child  into  a  gloomy  house  from  the  sunshine  and 
from  play. " 

"That  is  not  a  pleasant  comparison,  Violet,  my  darling," 
he  remarked,  smiling.  "  You  will  be  very  happy.  Now 


18  WEAKER  Th^N  A  WOMAN. 

you  spend  your  life  among  all  kinds  of  bright  pretty  things. 
You  shall  do  the  same  then.  No  shadow  of  care  shalJ  come 
near  you.  You  shall  know  no  trouble.  You  shall  be  one 
of  the  most  worshiped  as  you  will  be  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  wives. " 

uBut,  Felix,"  she  said,  slowly,  with  an  air  of  perplexity 
on  her  beautiful  face,  "it  seems  to  me  that  marring* •  is  the 
end  of  everything.  Once  married,  there  is  nothing  for  one 
to  look  forward  to,  nothing,  as  it  were,  to  hope  for :  it  is 
the  beginning  of  a  dull,  gray,  monotonous  stretch  of  life." 

"You  will  not  always  say  so,  Violet,"  Felix  laughed. 
"  You  must  marry— you  love  me.  Promise  to  marry  me. " 

She  was  looking  away  beyond  the  green  trees,  as  though 
she  were  trying  to  peer  into  some  far-off  future. 

- 1  do  love  you,"  she  returned,  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  sure 
that  I  love  you — but  there  seems  to  be  something  more 
wanting.  I  cannot  think  this  is  all  that  life  holds  for  me  ; 
yet  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is  I  want." 

"You  love  me,"  said  Felix.  "I  am  quite  content.  The 
rest  is  nothing  but  the  natural  fear  that  a  young  girl  has 
of  a  new  life.  Tell  me  again — my  heart  hungers  for  the 
words — that  you  love  me,  Violet. " 

Slowly  she  turned  her  eyes  from  the  distant  hills  ;  slowly 
she  raised  them  to  her  lover's  face.  Love  him?  Certainly 
she  did.  His  ardent  young  face  had  some  of  the  pi*oud 
stern  beauty  that  immortalized  the  Greek  heroes.  There 
was  none  like  him  in  Lilford.  Certainly  she  loved  him 
very  much.  Why  hesitate  to  say  so  ?  She  spoke  slowly, 
in  a  sweet,  clear  voice. 

"Most  surely,  Felix,  I  love  you" — and  the  words  seemed 
to  fill  him  with  delight.  He  took  the  soft  white  hands  in 
his,  and  held  them  while  he  made  her  repeat  again  and 
again  that  she  loved  him. 

"  You  can  never  go  back  from  your  word,  Violet.     No 
human  ear  hears  us;    but  behold  the  great  broad    sky. 
Your  vow  is  made  to  me,  darling,  before  Heaven." 
"I  have  made  no  vow,  Felix." 

"You  have  said  that  you  love  me.     Violet,  make  me 
quite  happy  now.     Already  I  am  so  happy  that  the  air 
seems  to  intoxicate  me.     Say  you  will  be  my  wife." 
She  was  thinking  again,  with  the  same  far-off  look  in  her 
eyes,  and  she  said,  suddenly : 

"  A  cottage  orne.  Do  you  mean  that  pretty  villa  where 
the  Hendersons  staid  ?" 

The  question  seemed  to  him  almost  decisive.  She  would 
not  have  asked  it  had  she  meant  to  refuse  him.  He  could 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  19 

hardly  answer  her  calmly,  but  he  beat  back  his  emotion. 
"She  is  so  easily  startled,"  he  said  to  himself — "I  must  be 
very  cautious  what  I  say  to  her. "  He  answered  : 

s,   and  many  of  the  beautiful  things  that  Captain 

Henderson  bought  are  there  now.     To  my  mind  it  is  the 

prettiest  house  in  Lilford  ;  and,  my  darling,  I  have  a  vision 

of  you  standing  in  that  pretty  entrance-hall,  waiting  for 

me  when  business  hours  are   over.     I   can  see   the   light 

ieil  glass   window   falling    on    your  golden 

hair.   I  can  see  the  sunlight  lying  outside  on  the  flowers.     I 

ee  my  wife's  sweet  face  gro\v  brighter  for  my  coming. 

1  can  see  your  hands   stretched  out  to  welcome  me.     I  can 

'e  the  years  pass  on,  and  life  grow  brighter  and  more 

iful.    Do  you  like  the  picture,  Violet  {  Will  you  make 

it  real?" 

ilis  gn  at  passionate  love,  shining  in  his  eyes,  trembling 
on  liis  lips,  touched  her.  Her  beautiful  1.  pale.    She 

was  woman  enough  to  feel  the  beauty  of  the  future  he  had 
painted  for  her — woman  enough  to  appreciate  the  deep, 

-',  true  love  offered  to  her. 

"  1  would  rather  not  promise,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  will  think 
of  it,  Felix/' 

••  You  do  not  refuse,  Violet?" 
"No,  I  do  nut  refuse,"  she  answered. 

"Why,  then,"  he  cried,  "the  victory  is  won!    You  will 
be  my  My  darling,  I  love  you  all  the  better  for  your 

shy,  -  rve.     How  could  I  be  so  foolish  as  to  fear 

that  I  should  not  marry  my  sweet  girl-love   Violet? 
darling,  I  have  been  keeping  this  for  you  ever  since  I  came, 
home  from  London  last  year."    He  drew  a  little  morocco 
case   from   his  pocket,  and,  opening  it,  took  out  a  j 

'f  gold,  set  with  pearls.     "You  will   let   me 
put  this  on  yo.ir  iinjjvr.  Violet,   This  is  your  betrothal-ring. 

i  will  never  part  with  it — promise  me." 
She  look*-  1  at  the  pretty  jewel  shining  on  her  finger. 
"No.    I  will  i  t  with  it,"  she  said;  "but  remem- 

ber, Felix.  1  have  not  quite  promised." 

"Not  quit •<.'    in-   ivt.urned,  with  a  happy  laugh.     "You 
will  1.  the  Limes  with  you,  Violet,  and  tell 

Mr.  liav.-  what  I  have  asked  you?" 

"Must  you  teU  them  now  so  soon!"  she  asked.    "It  will 
be  almost   tin-   s.  i;ie  thing  as   being  married   if  yon   t<Ti 

tll'Mll.  " 

••  It  will  !»••  on!     '!)•'  foresha  lowing  of  a  happy  future,  my 
Violet      Yes.  1    must  t.'.i  u-ieiu  to-niebt.     It  would  not  bo 


20  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

honorable  to  keep  silence ;  besides,  I  am  so  proud  of  the 
treasure  I  have  won  that  I  could  not  be  silent  if  I  would. v 

They  went  back  to  the  Limes ;  tea  was  ready  in  one  of 
the  sunny  little  rooms  that  looked  into  the  garden,  and 
Mrs.  Haye  sat  waiting  for  her  daughter.  She  smiled  as 
the  beautiful  girl  entered  with  her  lover. 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  she  said.     "I   thought  it  was   so. 
Violet  is  two  hours  later  than  she  intended  to  be,  and   then ' 
does  not  return  alone.     That  is  like  Violet. " 

Later  on  in  the  evening  Felix  told  his  love-story  to  Vio- 
let's parents,  who  were  pleased  with  it — pleased,  but  not 
elated.  Violet  was  very  lovely;  she  belonged  to  the 
gentry.  Her  beauty  ought  to  have  done  much  for  her ; 
still  Felix  would  certainly  one  day  be  the  leading  lawyer 
in  Lilford,  and  the  legacy  had  quite  altered  matters.  But 
for  that  and  the  partnership,  Mr.  Haye  would  not  have 
been  willing  for  his  daughter  to  engage  herself  to  Felix 
Lonsdale ;  however,  in  that  country  spot  he  was  now  a 
good  match.  They  talked  for  some  time  about  the  pros- 
pects of  business,  about  the  cottage  orne,  about  Lilford, 
and  then  Felix  knew  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  go. 

Violet  went  with  him  to  the  garden  gate.  How  many 
times  he  had  blessed  that  garden  gate  !  A  great  lilac  bush 
shaded  it,  and  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  his  life  had 
been  spent  there.  The  moon  was  shining  and  the  flowers 
were  steeped  in  glittering  dew  as  the  lovers  walked 
through  the  garden.  It  was  a  long  good-night.  They  stood 
under  the  sweet-smelling  lilac,  and  the  moonlight  seemed 
to  soften  Violet's  heart  just  as  it  softened  the  beauty  of 
her  marvelous  face. 

"Violet,"  said  her  lover,  "will  you  give  me  one  kiss?  It 
is  customary  at  all  betrothals,  and  this  has  been  our  be- 
trothal day." 

She  raised  her  fair  face  to  his  in  the  moonlight,  and  he 
kissed  the  sweet  lips. 

"Remember,"  she  told  him,  "I  have  not  quite  promised." 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  your  wedding-dress,  Violet," 
he  said  ;  "it  shall  be  of  white  silk.  My  darling,  you  will 
be  such  a  beautiful  bride  that  every  one  who  sees  you  will 
want  to  take  you  from  me." 

The  lilac  leaves  were  wet  with  dew,  and  the  lovers 
laughed  as  the  dew-drops  fell  over  them.  They  laughed  as 
the  night  wind  swept  over  the  sleeping  flowers — as  the 
great  boughs  swayed  and  murmured.  All  the  world 
seemed  so  fair.  Then  Felix  found  that  it  was  growing 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  21 

late.     Tt  was  hard  to  shorten  this,  the  happiest  hour  of  his 
life,  but  it  must  be  done. 

"  Violet,  I  could  stand  here  saying  good-night  until  morn- 
ing dawned  ;  but  that  must  not  be.  Good-night.1' 

Once  more  he  kissed  the  beautiful  face,  and  whispered 
to  her  that  she  was  dearest,  sweetest,  truest,  that  the  world 
had  no  other  jewel  so  rare,  that  he  loved  her  with  his 
whole  soul ;  but  she,  when  her  fair  face  was  resting  on  his 
breast  and  his  strong  loving  arms  infolded  her,  whispered  : 

"  I  have  not  quite  promised.     Felix,  do  not  forget  that." 

"  I  shall  remember  it  only  to  love  you  the  more, "  he 
answered,  as  he  left  her ;  and  he  smiled  to  himself  each 
time  that  he  thought  of  the  words. 

"You  have  brought  good  news  home,  Felix,"  said  Mrs. 
Lonsdale,  when  she  saw  the  happy  light  shining  in  his 
dark  eyes. 

"Yes,  madre,  good  news,"  he  replied.  "I  have  seen  Vio- 
let, and  she  was  more  beautiful  and  charming  than  I  have 
ever  seen  her  yet." 

"And  she  promised,"  began  Mrs.  Lonsdale — and  then  she 
stopped  suddenly,  thinking  to  herself  that  after  all  she 
had  no  right  to  put  the  interrogatory  that  was  on  her  lips. 
Felix  looked  at  her  with  a  bright  smile. 

"She  will  be  my  wife,  madre.     Mr.   and  Mrs.  Hay 
both  willing.     She  has  not  exactly  promised,  but  she    will 
marry  me  when  I  have  a  house  ready  for  her.1' 

Love  and  youth  were  strong  within  him;  the  mighty 
passion  stirred  his  heart ;  he  could  not  hre.-iihe  within  the 
narrow  compass  of  four  walls.  He  went  out  into  the  moon- 
light; he  could  think  of  it  all — realize  it  ail— better  there. 
Ho  had  won  Volet.  She  was  his  own,  the  beautiful  girl 
who?.1  every  one  loved  and  admired— his  own,  to  love  him 
and  bless  him,  to  crown  his  life. 

The  union  was  a,  settled  thintc.  Both  families  met  and 
talked  it  over.  It  was  a certainty  :  and  a  few  days  after 
Felix  had  placed  the  little,  pearl  ring  on  Violet's  finger  he 
went  to  make  inquiries  about  ti  _•'  m-nc,  while  .Mrs. 

Lonsdale  said  to    herseii'   moie  than  once.  -  ]  do   not    know 
how  it  is,  but  I  wish  that  he  h;,d  chosen  Kvelyn 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  STRON:;-:\I:>:!>I:I>   WOMAN. 

The  news  of  an  encca.  was  always  well   r 

in  Lilford  ;  it  was  sometinng  Lo  discuss,  to  think  of 


22  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

thing  in  which  both  maids  and  matrons  took  a  lively  in- 
terest ;  and  it  was  certain  that  no  engagement  ever  courted 
so  much  discussion  as  this.  How  intensely  the  young  farm- 
ers in  the  neighborhood  detested  Felix  Lonsdale  for  having 
won  beautiful  Violet !  Each  one  made  up  his  mind  that 
Felix  Lonsdale  should  do  no  more  business  for  him,  and 
wondered  why  she  preferred  a  lawyer  to  a  farmer.  All  the 
old  people  thought  it  a  most  suitable  alliance.  Felix  and 
Violet,  they  said,  were  equal  in  position,  and  marriages  of 
that  kind  were  the  best.  Mothers  who  had  daughters  of 
their  own  to  marry  were  thankful  that  beautiful  Violet 
would  rival  them  no  longer.  The  girls  thought  that  Violet 
had  Avon  a  prize,  for  there  was  certainly  no  one  in  all  the 
country-side  like  Felix. 

There  was  one  pure,  gentle  heart  to  whom  the  news  of 
the  engagement  came  like  a  terrible  blow,  although  it  had 
long  been  expected.  Evelyn  Lester  had  ne\r<ir  even  owned 
to  herself  that  she  loved  Felix  Lonsdale,  yet,  when  she 
heard  the  news,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  bright  face  of 
heaven  was  hidden  from  her  by  a  dark  funereal  pall.  They 
had  all  been  children  together,  and  in  their  childish  quar- 
rels it  was  always  Evelyn  who  defended  Felix.  He  could 
do  no  wrong  in  her  eyes ;  in  her  opinion  the  wide  world 
held  no  other  so  brave,  so  handsome,  or  so  noble  ;  and  the 
childish  love  had  .nconsciously  grown  with  her — she  called 
it  friendship,  and  b:lieved  it  to  be  nothing  else.  Felix  had 
a  real  friendship  for  her,  a  real  admiration,  a  great  esteem, 
but  nothing  like  love.  He  lent  her  books,  he  frequently 
asked  Mrs.  Lonsdale  to  invite  her  to  the  house  ;  but  it  was 
all  because  he  was  sorry  for  her,  and  thought  her  life 
lonely  and  sad.  Evelyn  was  an  orphan,  left  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  a  strong-minded  aunt,  Jane  Lester,  mistress  of 
the  pretty  little  farm  known  as  the  Outlands.  Miss  Lester 
would  say  of  herself,  u  I  am  nothing  if  I  am  not  strong- 
minded,"  and  therein  she  spoke  the  truth. 

She  looked  like  a  strong-minded  woman.  She  was  thin 
and  angular  ;  she  had  what  she  called  a  useful  complexion 
—the  sun  did  not  darken  it,  nor  did  the  wind  ever  freshen 
it  into  deeper  bloom ;  her  gray  hair  was  braided  in  most 
severely  uncompromising  style ;  her  dress  was  of  plain, 
rich  material.  In  writing  the  word  "  woman"  she  always 
used  a  capital  "  W,"  and  a  capital  UH"  in  "Humanity."  Of 
men  as  a  whole  she  had  the  poorest  possible  opinion ;  she 
had  the  profoundest  contempt  for  all  their  sentiments, 
principles,  and  inventions.  She  went  to  extreme  lengths 
in  her  views  about  the  rights  of  women.  Where  there  was 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  23 

a  man  she  was  accustomed  to  say  there  was  mischief.  "  If 
you  want  anything  done  well,  do  it  yourself,"  she  coun- 
seled ;  "  do  not  leave  it  to  men. "  She  had  a  certain  convic- 
tion that  if  the  world  were  governed  by  women  it  would  be 
quite  another  place.  She  did  not  dislike  men,  she  had 
simply  a  superb  contempt  for  them — a  lofty  pity  and  com- 
passion that  were  infinitely  amusing  even  to  the  objects  of 
them. 

It  was  the  puzzle  of  the  whole  neighborhood  how  so 
sweet  a  girl  as  Eve  Lester  could  have  grown  up  under  the 
charge  of  one  like  her  Aunt  Jane.  Eve  was  not  beautiful. 
She  was  the  perfect  type  of  an  English  girl — graceful, 
healthy,  with  a  rounded  figure,  a  clear  complexion,  fair 
brown,  hair,  red,  ripe  lips,  a  face  that  one  would  call  sweet 
rather  than  beautiful ;  the  dark  gray  eyes  were  clear  and 
tender,  long  lashes  shading  them — a  frank,  noble  soul 
spoke  from  her  eyes ;  her  lips  were  firm  and  sensitive, 
with  sweet  and  gracious  curves  about  them.  Of  a  hun- 
dred men  perhaps  ninety-nine  would  have  passed  Eve  by 
and  thought  but  little  of  her;  the  hundredth  would  h;ive 
considered  her  face  one  of  the  sweetest  and  dearest.  There 
was  a  quiet  dignity  about  her,  a  graceful  ease  and  self-pus- 
11  that  delighted  her  aunt.  Evelyn  had  a  small  for- 
tune entirely  at  her  own  command,  but  her  aunt  WHS  al- 
ways at  hand  to  see  that  there  was  no  undue  expense. 

The  Outlands  was  a  pretty  farm  not  more  than  half  a 
mile  from  Lilford,  and  Miss  Lester  WHS  supposed  to  have 
made  money.  She,  with  her  niece,  belong'''!  to  tl.<-  uvntry, 
but,  owing  to  the  elder  woman's  peculiarities,  tin-  t\vo  la- 
dies visited  but  seldom  and  seldom  received  any  visitors. 

If  there  was  one  man  in  Jane  Lester's  eyes  less  contempt- 
ible than  another  it  was  certainly  Felix  Lonsdale.  "The 
boy  has  a  beautiful  face,"  she  was  accustomed  to  sny  of 
him.  "and  be  uity  is  a  woman's  gift."  So  because  he  had  a 
"^woman's  gift"  Miss  Lester  looked  more  kindly  on  him. 
She  Ifked  to  see  him  at  the  Outlands.  She  gave  him  any 
amount  of  rood  ;>dvice  ;  she  was  pleased  that  he  should  be 
s,  friend  of  Evelyn's. 

No  one  was  more  delighted  than  Jane  Lester  to  hear  of 
the  legacy,  but  the  engagement  did  not  please  her  so  well. 
Love  and  marriage  were  folly  in  her  e\ 

"I   am   disappointed   in   you,  Felix    Lonsdale,"  she 
sharply.     "  I  thought  you  had  a  little  more  sense  than  the 
generality  of  men.     Pray  expect  no  congratulations  from 
me — I  have  none  to  give." 

But  Eve  smiled  at  him  with  her  clear,  tender  eyes. 


24  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  am  very  pleased,"  she  said, "for  I  know  that  you 
love  Violet  dearly." 

u  We  shall  always  be  friends, "  he  told  her. 

And  she  answered  him  with  a  happy  smile  on  her  sweet 
face : 

"  Always. " 

They  would  always  be  friends ;  for  she  desired  nothing 
better  in  life  than  the  friendship  of  Felix  Lonsdale. 

Miss  Lester  was  perhaps  a  trifle  more  disagreeable  than 
usual  for  the  next  two  or  three  days,  and  then,  to  all  out- 
ward appearance,  everything  went  on  as  usual  at  the  Out- 
lands  ;  but  to  Eve  Lester  life  was  never  quite  the  same 
again.  She  was  innocently  unconscious  of  her  love.  If 
any  one  had  suddenly  taxed  her  with  it  she  would  most  in- 
dignantly have  denied  it.  She  hardly  knew  that  the  love 
of  the  woman  differed  from  the  love  of  the  child.  She  did 
not  know  why  the  smiling  earth  and  the  fair  heavens  had 
so  suddenly  grown  dark  to  her.  She  did  not  know  why  the 
spring  of  her  life  had  left  her. 


Darcy  Lonsdale  had  taken  Vale  House ;  he  had  for  once 
in  his  life-time  the  pleasure  01  ordering  new  carpets  and 
pretty  furniture.  Mrs.  Lonsdale  was  delighted.  She  had 
engaged  a  treasure  of  a  nursery  governess,  and  prepared 
herself  to  enjoy  life  in  real  earnest.  The  deed  of  partner- 
ship had  been  drawn  up, and  the  firm  was  known  as  Lons- 
dale &  Son.  Every  one  agreed  that  Darcy  had  done  a  very 
wise  thing  in  making  his  clever,  bright,  intellectual  son  a 
partner.  Felix  had  taken  the  pretty  cottage  orne,  and  his 
spare  time  was  devoted  to  preparing  it  for  his  beautiful 
hride.  He  had  seen  some  fine  photographs  one  day  that 
he  fancied  would  look  well  framed  and  hung  upon  the 
walls.  He  asked  Violet  to  look  at  them,  but  he  could  not 
get  her  to  speak  freely  upon  anything.  The  photographs 
wore  beautiful — with  the  most  charming  of  smiles  she  con- 
desceiaded  to  say  so  ;  that  was  all.  She  was  evidently  in 
an  amiable  humor,  and  Felix  resolved  to  make  the  most 
of  it. 

"  Violet,  do  come  and  sefe  the  house  ?"  he  begged.  "  You 
"ay  that  you  never  visited  it  while  the  Hendersons  lived 
there.  You  canot  tell  how  pretty  the  rooms  are  ;  do  come 
and  see  them." 

It  was  a  brilliantly  beautiful  day  in  July  ;  the  sun  shone 
on  lilies  and  roses,  on  flowers  of  every  hue  ;  the  earth  lay 
in  the  warm  heat  and  brilliant  haze — there  was  a  hush  and 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  25 

sweet  brooding  silence  over  all.  Violet  could  not  refuse ; 
putting  aside  all  other  thoughts,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  see 
the  interior  of  a  pretty  house.  Mrs.  Lonsdale  offered  to  go 
also,  and  the  three  started  together.  But  Mrs.  Lonsdale 
had  been  in  love  herself,  and  she  had  pity  on  her  step-son. 
When  they  had  admired  the  beautiful  grounds  and  gardens 
she  said,  laughingly : 

"  The  kitchen  will  not  interest  you ;  it  does  me.  I  will  go 
and  inspect  it." 

Then  Felix  showed  Violet  the  pretty  rooms  he  had 
planned  for  her. 

"The  charm  of  them,"  he  said,  "is  that  they  are  full  of 
light  and  brightness ;  from  every  window  you  see  flowers 
and  trees,  through  every  door  comes  a  breath  of  perfumed 
air.  Oh,  my  Violet,  we  can  be  so  happy  here  !" 

" Is  that  jessamine  growing  yonder?"  she  asked.  "Do 
gather  a  few  sprays,  Felix.  I  think  I  am  fonder  of  jessa- 
mine than  I  am  of  any  flower  that  blows.'7 

He  went  in  compliance  with  her  wish.  What  request  of 
hers  could  he  have  refused  ?  And  Violet  Haye  stood  alone 
in  the  home  that  her  lover  sought  to  make  hers.  She  stood 
there  dainty  and  bewitching;  she  looked  round.  The 
rooms  were  very  pretty  ;  she  tried  to  imagine  herself  mis- 
tress there  ;  she  tried  to  picture  herself  living  there,  going 
in  and  out,  waiting  for  Felix,  giving  orders.  She  tried  to 
realize  what  life  would  be  like  when  she  was  married  and 
lived  there.  There  would  be  no  future  to  look  forward  to, 
no  sweet,  bright  possibilities.  "I  should  know  all  my  life, 
then,"  she  thought,  "it  would  hold  nothing  brighter  than 
tins.'1  and  the  dainty  little  foot  tapped  the  floor.  "Here  it 
would  all  >egin  and  end ;  there  would  be  no  more  dream- 
ing," and  she  had  dreamed  wildly  of  a  different  life  from 
this.  Sti1!  she  loved  Felix. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  dainty  young  beauty  to  herself,  "in 
what  I  d'.ffer  from  other  girls.  I  know  not  one  but  many 
who  would  gladly  change  their  fate  for  mine,  who  would 
marry  Felix  Lonsdale  and  be  happy  in  his  love,  who  would 
think  t'lis  pretty  house  a  palace,  and  would  find  the  coii- 
tentmrnt  and  true  happiness  of  a  life-time  within  its  walls  ; 
why  r  innot  I  do  the  same  .'  What  is  it  that  1  am  always 
look)  ig  for,  hoping  for,  expecting^  What  more  do  I  want  ? 
I  ca-  not  understand  myself— and  I  am  sure  no  one  e\> 
understand  me." 

The  violet  eyes  glanced  wistfully  round  the  pretty  rooms ; 

'  y  was  sh-'  not  e<  .nt'-nt  '. 
'Hove  Felix,"  she   told  herself;  "and  it  seems  to  m& 


26  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

that  if  I  made  an  effort  I  could  be  happy  and  contente-- 
here.  What  is  the  effort  that  I  have  to  make  ?  I  love 
Felix  ;  nothing  on  earth  can  make  me  alter  that  fact." 

Yet  she  did  not  feel  quite  at  ease.  There  was  a  vague, 
shadowy  feeling  of  something  wanting  that  she  had  not  yet 
found. 

Felix  amused  her  with  his  raptures  when  he  returned. 
It  was  so  novel,  so  delightful  to  see  her  there  ;  and  the  day 
was  never  forgotten  by  him,  because  she  had  been  gracious 
to  him  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"YOU   WILL  NEED   A  FRIEND." 

The  inhabitants  of  Lilford  were  pleased  at  Darcy  Lons- 
dale's  good  fortune.  He  deserved  it,  they  said  ;  his  honest, 
honorable,  industrious  life  had  been  spent  among  them ; 
they  had  known  him  as  boy  and  man ;  they  had  been  inter- 
ested in  his  marriages,  in  his  children,  in  his  business  ;  he 
was  one  of  themselves ;  they  had  been  interested  in  his 
joys  and  sorrows  and  in  his  welfare,  and  now  they  were 
pleased  at  his  good  fortune. 

With  this  sudden  and  unexpected  gleam  of  prosperity 
came  other  gleams ;  his  business  increased ;  and  Darcy 
Lonsdale  owned  to  himself  that  he  was  a  most  fortunate 
man.  He  removed  with  his  household  to  Vale  House  ;  and 
Felix  began  to  think  that  he  might  induce  Violet  to  marry 
him  before  the  end  of  the  year.  He  did  not  often  speak  to 
her  of  their  marriage,  for  it  was  a  difficult  task  ;  she  would 
evade  the  question  in  a  hundred  different  ways ;  she  would 
laugh,  yet  look  charming — do  anything,  in  fact,  but  reply 
to  his  inquiry  as  to  when  they  should  be  united. 

He  went  to  the  Limes  one  lovely  summer  evening,  quite 
resolved  upon  not  coming  away  without  a  definite  answer. 
Violet  was  looking  even  more  charming  than  usual ;  she 
wore  a  white  dress  with  blush  roses,  arid  her  fair  girlish 
face  was  like  a  sweet  flower.  He  persuaded  her  to  come 
out  with  him,  beguiling  her  on  to  the  lawn  under  the  pre- 
text of  showing  her  the  gorgeous  western  sky. 

"I  do  not  care  for  sunsets,  Felix,"  she  said.  "I  cannot 
go  into  raptures  over  them.  I  see  the  sun  set  in  some 
fashion  or  other  every  evening." 

But  he  was  so  determined  that  she  thought  it  less  trouble 
to  accede  to  his  wish.  The  sight  of  the  glorious  sky  made 
her  thoughtful ;  then,  when  she  was  in  a  frame  of  mind 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  27 

proper  for  listening,  he  turned  to  her.  How  dazzlingly 
beautiful  her  face  was  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  quote  a  couple  of  lines  from 
a  familiar  ballad  to  you.  Can  you  guess  what  it  is  ?" 

"No,  I  cannot;  I  do  not  care  for  familiar  ballads,"  he 
replied.  u  What  is  it?" 

"  You  know  '  My  Pretty  Jane, '  "  he  said.  "  The  lines  I 
want  to  quote  to  you  are  these  : 

'Name  the  day,  the  wedding-day, 
And  I  will  buy  the  ring.' 

Now,  sweet  Violet,  that  is  just  what  I  want  you  to  do — tell 
me  when  that  happy  day  will  dawn  for  me.  Do  not  lei 
the  summer  sunshine  and  the  summer  flowers  all  die  be- 
'ore  you  are  my  wife." 

She  turned  her  startled  face  to  his. 

"  You  are  cruel,  Felix,"  she  said.  "  You  always  spoil  these 
lovely  sunny  days  by  talking  about  marriage." 

"  My  heart  is  full  of   it,"  he  replied — uat  least  it  is  full  of 
you.     I  do  not  wish  to  startle  you,  Violet,  but  give  me  OIKS 
kind  word  to  dream  about  now.     I  am  always   wondering, 
'  When  will  our  marriage  take  place?    When  will  my  darl- 
ing consent?    When  will  the  end  corne  to  all  my  uncertain- 
•»iiMs.  and  fears.'     When  shall  1  be  able  to  say  to  my 
•  <  )n  such  a  day  I  shall  bring  home  my  wife  ?'  " 

She  answered,  half  impatiently. 
"  Yon  make  so  terribly  sure  of  everything,  Felix." 

"Have  I  not  the  rightttodo  so  in  this  case?"  he  asked, 
lanuliing  hall'  sadly  at  her. 

"  I  did  not  quite  promise,  you  know,  Felix." 

haps  n. it  in  so  many  words,  Violet,  but  in  honor 
yon  are  hound  to.be  my  wife." 

"lam  willing  to  be  your  wife.  Felix,  but  let  me  enjoy 
my  youth  a  little  longer.  I  am  only  nineteen — there  is  no 
hurry." 

"You  forget,"  he  interrupted,  "  bow  dearly  I  love  you, 
Violet,  and  how  I  long  for  you  to  he  with  me.  If  1  thought 
yon  did  not  loves  me,  Violet,  1  would  not  urge  my  request 
— I  would  go  far  away,  and  occupy  my  life  as  \\ell  as  I 
eouM — nay,  I  would  rather  die  than  make  you  unhappy. 
;  do  not  love  me,  I  will  not  hold  you  pledged  to  me, 
Viol 

"But  I  do  love  you,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with 
weet  perplexed  eyea ;  "still,  Felix,  it  seems  so  sudden— 

"Hardly  sudden,  darling,"  he  interrupted,  "when  1  have 


28  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

loved  you  since  you  were  seven  years  old.  You  will  be 
just  as  happy  when  you  are  my  wife  as  you  are  now — will 
you  not?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  she  replied. 

If  she  had  spoken  the  real  truth  she  would  have  told  him 
that  she  was  unwilling  to  lay  down  her  sovereignty — that 
the  homage  and  admiration  she  received  were  very  precious 
to  her — that  she  enjoyed  them — that  she  liked  to  know  she 
was  the  queen  of  the  country-side.  All  that  of  course 
would  end  when  she  was  married.  The  married  ladies  she 
knew  led  dull  lives — or  dull  they  seemed  to  her — spent  in 
the  routine  of  duty.  They  superintended  their  households, 
nursed  their  children,  directed  heir  servants.  It  seemed 
dreary  work  to  her — a  life  that  held  1  ittle.  She  had  hoped 
for  more  than  this ;  her  brilliai  t  beauty  ought  to  bring  her 
a  brighter  fate  than  that  which  these  plain-faced  matrons 
had  met. 

While  she  sat  musing  with  these  thoughts  plainly  writ- 
ten on  her  fair  face  Felix  was  looking  earnestly  at  her. 

"  Let  me  say  September,  Violet, "  he  pleaded  ;  "  that  is  a 
glorious  month,  and  the  house  will  be  quite  ready.  My 
darling,  gladden  my  heart  with  one  word. " 

But  he  was  never  quite  sure  whether  she  had  spoken  that 
word  or  not ;  her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears,  and  she  mur- 
mured something  to  the  effect  that  she  loved  him — had  al- 
ways loved  him ;  while  something  of  remorse  seemed  to 
tinge  her  manner.  Her  fingers  thrilled  him  with  their 
soft  touch,  her  lovely  lips  quivered  as  she  talked  to  him — 
but  he  could  never  tell  whether  she  had  whispered  the 
word  he  wanted. 

That  evening,  when  he  reached  home,  Evelyn  Lester 
was  there,  and  a  sense  of  rest  came  over  him  at  the  first 
glance  at  her  sweet  face.  She  went  up  to  him  with  the 
gentle  grace  and  dignity  that  characterized  her. 

"  Felix,  I  have  heard  good  news — you  are  favored  in  for- 
tune and  in  love.  Is  it  all  true  ?" 

u  Yes" — he  told  her  it  was  all  true ;  he  had  been  spend- 
ing the  evening  at  the  Limes — he  had  just  left  Violet. 

He  walked  home  with  Evelyn,  and  he  was  struck  with 
the  strange  sense  of  rest  that  came  over  him.  She  was  not 
beautiful,  but  the  sweet  face  was  very  fair  and  very  ten- 
der, her  voice  musical  and  full  of  sympathy  ;  she  spoke  so 
kindly  of  beautiful  Violet,  she  praised  her  so  generously 
and  warmly,  she  spoke  with  such  real  enthusiasm  of  her 
loveliness,  of  the  admiration  she  excited,  of  her  brilliancy, 
that  his  heart  warmed  to  her.  She  listened  with  such 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  29 

sweet  sympathy  to  all  that  he  had  to  say — to  his  history  of 
the  cottage,  and  of  the  pretty  furniture  and  pictures  he 
hoped  to  place  therein ;  she  was  interested  in  it  all.  He 
said  to  himself  that  it  was  strange  what  perfect  rest  he 
found  with  her,  a  something  which  he  could  not  describe,  a 
sense  of  deep  tranquillity  and  repose. 

"I  think,  Evelyn."  he  said,  as  he  stood  at  the  hall  door 
of  the  Outlands,  "that  no  man  was  ever  so  blessed.  I  have 
the  truest  and  fairest  of  loves,  and  the  truest  and  warmest 
of  friends.'' 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  Eve  stood  in  silence 
for  a  few  minutes,  watching  him. 

"You  will  need  a  friend,"  she  thought,  "and,  when  you 
do,  you  shall  not  fail  to  find  one. ' ' 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FOREBODINGS. 

"  That  young  man  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  his  lot  in 
life, "  said  Jane  Lester,  as  her  niece  told  her  of  Felix  Lons- 

dule's  si !< -i -esses. 

"He  is  quite  satisfied,  auntie,"  Evelyn  returned,  gently. 

"The  worst  thing  that  any  mtm  can  do  is  to  marry  a  girl 
with  a  pretty  fare."  said  the  aunt.  "Pretty  girls  are  a 
mistake — they  think  themselves  too  good  for  anything. 
Felix  Lonsdale  has  acted  foolishly — Violet  Haye  will  never 
make  hi  in  a  good  wife." 

"She  is  young,  and  she  loves  him  very  dearly,"  re- 
marked Evelyn. 

"Youth  and  love — would  any  wise  man   build  his  house 
on  such  foundations  r  said  her  aunt.     "I  tell    you,  Evelyn, 
a    mistake,  and    Lonsdale    will    find    it    so.      I  read  a 
character  quickly,  and  1  have  read  Violet  Hay. 

"She  loves  him,''  repeated  Evelyn,  who  could  imagine 
nothing  more  unanswerable. 

know  what  a  lasting  sentiment  that  is," 
sneered  Miss  Lester.  "If  he  married  a  sensible  woman 
with  a  nice  little  fortune.  I  should  have  some  hope;  but 
the  very  curl  of  that  girl's  hair  shows  what  she  is." 

:yn    laughed   as   she  thought  of   the  glorious  golden 
hair  that  had  always  been  Violet's  glory. 

"There  is  no  other  hair  in  Lilioid  like  it,  auntie,"  she 
rep! 

"It  is  a  very  good  thing,"  was  the  retort.  "I  am  no 
friend  to  nonsense." 


30  WEAKER  THAN  A 

No  unfriendly  criticisms  reached  Felix  Lonsdale's  ears — 
none  could  have  hurt  him.  He  had  now  the  one  great 
prize  of  his  life  ;  he  was  happy  beyond  all  power  of  words 
to  tell.  It  pleased  him,  too,  that  all  his  friends  and  neigh- 
bors took  such  kindly  interest  in  him  :  it  was  pleasant  to 
meet  with  congratulations  and  good  wishes — to  see  life 
lying  so  fair  and  so  clear  before  him — to  feel  his  youth  and 
his  sti-ength — to  feel  his  happiness  thrilling  every  vein.  He 
felt  that  he  had  nothing  left  in  life  to  wish  for ;  H< 
had  been  good  to  him,  and  had  granted  him  his  heart's  de- 
sire. He  would  have  felt  a  little  happier  perhaps  had 
Violet  been  less  coy.  But  that  very  coyness  had  a  charm 
of  its  own ;  it  suited  her ;  he  could  not  imagine  her  other 
than  coy ;  and,  as  for  doubt  or  tear  or  mistrust,  such 
shadows  never  darkened  his  mind.  The  heaven  of  his 
love  was  clear  and  cloudless.  Violet  would  grow  less  coy 
in  time  ;  it  was  better  for  her  to  be  shy  and  reserved  as  she 
was  than  lay  herself  out  for  admiration  as  some  did. 

He  had  settled  in  his  own  mind  that  he  would  persuade 
her  to  become  his  wife  before  chill  October  killed  the 
flowers  and  stripped  the  trees.  So  he  thought  and  hoped 
and  dreamed,  while  a  cloud  was  rising  in  the  distance  no 
larger  than  a  man's  hand. 

One  day  Darcy  Lonsdale  returned  with  a  perplexed  look 
on  his  face  to  his  new  house.  His  wife,  wondering  at  it, 
asked  him  : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Darcy  ?" 

After  thinking  for  a  few  minutes  he  answered  : 

"Nothing,  my  brain  seems  to  be  full  of  foolish  fancies." 

The  next  time  le  returned  home  it  was  evening,  nml  the 
pleasant  tea-table  th  happy  circle  of  bright  faces,  n.i.^ht 
have  gladdened  any  man's  heart;  but  Darcy  Ldnsdale 
looked  dull.  Again  his  wife  asked  what  was  wrong,  and 
he  laughed  uneasily,  she  thought. 

"The  very  air  seems  thick  with  fancies,"  he  answered. 
"I  saw  three  of  my  best  friends  this  morning  standing  in 
a  group  in  Castle  street,  and  when  I  joined  them  I  knew 
by  the  startled,  embarrassed  expression  on  each  man's  face 
that  they  had  been  talking  about  me." 

"  What  could  they  have  to  say  about  you  ?"  asked  Kate. 
"  It  was  all  fancy,  Darcy. :' 

"  No ;  I  am  sure  Jiey  were  speaking  of  me.  I  went  to 
the  bank  this  morning,  and  as  I  was  entering  the  door  I  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  manager  say,  'Mistaken  in  Lonsdale.'  I 
heard  the  words  as  plainly  as  you  hear  them  now.  He  was 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  31 

talking  to  one  of  the  partners,  and  they  were  both  cool,  I 
thought,  in  their  manner.1' 
Kate,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  his 

anxious  face. 

"  Why  should  any -one  talk  ahout  yo~7  or  be  cool  to  you, 
dear?  You  have  lone  m  wring. " 

"No.  but  there  is  soi  —lam  quite  sure  there  is 

something,  Kate — in  WK  Toinds  of  people  about  me.  I 
cannot  imagine  what  :i 

Kate  tried,  to  ell'1"!-  him;  shf-  laugaed  at  the  notion. 
What  could  there  be  '.  She  knew  hat  there  *vas<  no  one  like 
him.  No  one  could  accuse  iiin  c,t  a  mean  a  -'.v.n;  his  life 
had  always  been  fair  c~>en,  loyal,  and  transparent.  It 
i'lsurd.  ile  must  be  rit  of  health  ;  he  should  go  away 
and  rest  himself  for  a  time.  People  cool  to  him,  indeed! 
She  would  like  to  see  any  one  treat  him  with  less  resjiect 
and  honor  than  he  deserved.  The  kind,  tender  face  flushed, 
the  soft  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  would  have  done  bat- 
•  him  with  the  Avhole  world.  There  was  nothing  in 
what  lie  said,  sin-  felt  quite  sure,  but  failing  health. 

Yet  she  waited  anxiously  for  him  the  next  day  She  was 
somewhat  surprised,  for  there  had  been  a  perfect  deluge 
of  tradesmen's  '-ills — an  occurrence  that  had  never  hap- 
pened bei'ore.  The  bakei'  'ia-i  sent  in  his  bill,  and  the 
butcher  want".]  ready  me  •  the  upholsterers  who  had 
furnished  Vale  ifonse  j.,es-ed  fora,  settlement  in  conse- 
quence  of  unlocked-*!  jr  Kate  showed  the  bills  to 

her  husband. 

"What  does  it  mea.         she  asked,  wonderingly. 

"It  means,  my  dear,  that  there  is  some  subtle  agency  at 
work  against  us— I  cannot  tell  what.  It  means  also  that 
the  tradespeople  must  be  paid  at  once.  Indeed,  Kate,  we 
should  have  been  wiser  had  we  waited  till  the  legacy  had 
been  pa. id  to  us  befor--  •  here." 

"  Hut  it  is  eel-tain,"1  said  Kale,  a  little  anxiously. 

eeri.lin  as  fate,"  he  replied  ;  and  then  they  talked  ft 
little  more  cheerfully  about  what  they  would  do  when  the 
money  was  at  command. 

That  same  evening  I'elix  came  home  looking  slightly 
preoccupied.  He  had  seen  one  <,f  their  oldest/clients  ^o 
into  George  Malcolm's  office,  and  the  vicar  of  the  parish, 
the  Reverend  Daniel  Hunter-,  had  passed  him  witli  the 
coldest  of  bows.  He  also  had  an  impression  thai  there 
Was  something  wrong.  He  could  te.l  neither  what  it  was 
nor  why  it  was. 

Felix  thought  that  there  would  be  time  to  walk   over  to 


32  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN: 

the  Limes.  He  had  a  very  beautiful  hook  that  he  had 
bought  for  Violet,  and  he  wanted  to  give  it  to  her. 

It  struck  him,  when  he  entered  the  drawing-room  at  the 
Limes,  that  the  three  assembled  there  had  been  speaking 
of  him,  their  greeting  was  so  awkward,  so  constrained,  so 
unlike  the  genial,  kindly  reception  that  had  always  been 
given  to  him  hitherto.  Mrs.  Haye  held  out  her  hand  to 
him,  but  her  eyes  fell,  and  her  husband's  half -murmured 
words  were  inaudible ;  Violet  looked  embarrassed,  and  for 
the  first  time  under  that  hospitable  roof  the  young  lover 
felt  ill  at  ease. 

When  he  laid  the  volume  on  the  table  Mr.  Haye  took 
it  up. 

"  This  must  have  cost  something,"  he  said,  "  for  it  is  very 
handsome.  It  would  be  better  to  save  money  than  to 
spend  it — we  none  of  us  know  when  an  evil  day  may 
come." 

"  I  do  not  fear  evil  days,"  remarked  Felix,  with  all  the 
sanguine  hope  of  a  young  man. 

"The  wisest  among  us  may  expect  them,"  said  Mr. 
Haye,  briefly. 

Then  the  conversation  languished,  and  Felix  grew  so 
uncomfortable  that  he  decided  upon  returning  home.  He 
had  no  misgiving — he  thought  he  had  called  at  an  inauspi- 
cious moment — he  had  perhaps  interrupted  some  domestic 
conference.  He  cared  only  to  see  Violet.  If  she  would  go  to 
the  gate  with  him,  so  that  he  would  have  time  for.  a  few 
words,  all  would  be  well. 

But  when  he  had  said  good-night  to  the  two  seniors,  and 
asked  Violet  if  she  would  walk  to  the  gate  with  him,  Mrs. 
Haye  interposed. 

"  It  is  too  cold,"  she  said.  "Violet  has  been  complaining 
of  headache  all  day ;  she  must  not  go  out. " 

And  the  tone  was  so  decided,  so  stern,  that  Felix  could 
not  oppose  Mrs.  Haye.  He  held  Violet's  hand  one  minute  in 
his  ;  he  tried  to  look  into  the  depths  of  her  beautiful  eyes, 
but  they  drooped  from  his,  and  he  could  not  see  them.  He 
left  her  with  a  few  whispered  words,  feeling  more  un- 
happy than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 

The  night  was  beautiful :  the  wind  was  soft  and  fragrant, 
the  sky  calm  and  clear,  the  moon  shining  brightly.  He 
smiled  as  he  asked  himself  why  he  should  be  unhappy. 
What  was  there  to  make  him  so?  Why  need  he  feel  do- 
pressed?  Yet  the  very  air  around  him  was  filled  with 
whisperings — the  night-wind  full  of  sighs.  "  I  am  growing 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  33 

fanciful,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "and  what  tangible  evil  have 
I  to  grasp  ?" 

There  was  nothing  but  a  cloud  of  fancies ;  his  prospects 
were  bright  enough.  He  said  to  himself  over  and  over 
again  that  no  one  was  so  fortunate.  Had  he  not  a  partner- 
ship ?  Had  he  not  a  certainty  of  calling  the  loveliest  girl 
in  the  county  his  wife ?  What  had  he  to  fear?  Yet  what 
was  the  strange  dull  pain  that  made  his  brave  young  heart 
fail  him  ?  What  caused  the  strange  shuddering  that  came 
over  him  ?  Why  had  he  a  keen  and  penetrating,  a  vague 
indefinite  feeling  of  an  evil  day  to  come  ?  He  tried  to  re- 
press it ;  he  could  understand  women  being  nervous,  but 
not  men. 

For  the  first  time  he  noticed  that  night  a  look  of  anxiety 
on  his  father's  face,  and  he  asked  what  had  brought  it 
there. 

"  Shadows — nothing  but  shadows  ;  fancies — troublesome 
fancies,"  was  the  reply  ;  yet  it  was  strange  the  son  turned 
away  with  a  feeling  almost  of  despair. 

Nor  was  the  mystery  lessened  when  on  the  day  following, 
Mrs.  Lonsdale,  going  on  her  daily  round  of  shopping,  met 
the  vicar's  wife,  Mrs.  Hunter,  who  stopped  to  speak  to  her. 

"This  is  a  very  sad  affair,  Mrs.  Lonsdale,"  she  said,  and 
Kate,  looking  at  her,  asked  quietly  what  affair  she  meant. 

She  looked  so  entirely  unconscious  that  the  vicar's  wife 
urprised. 

"  Have  you  heard  no  bad  news  of — of — any  one  ?"  she 
asked,  and  Kate  answered,  "No." 

Then  Mrs.  Hunter  related  some  trifling  little  story,  and 
even  as  she  related  it  Kate  told  herself  that  she  was  in- 
venting it.  With  her  honest,  straightforward  eyea  she 
looked  at  the  vicar's  lady. 

"You  are  not  telling  me  what  was  in  your  mind  when 
you  first  spoke  to  me,"  she  said.  "What  were  you  think- 
ing of.  Mrs.  Hunter?" 

But  Mrs.  Hunter,  after  laughingly  parrying  the  remark, 
hastily  said  good-morning  in  a  very  embarrassed  fashion, 
and  walked  away. 

Mrs.  Hunter's  remark  could  mean  nothing ;  yet  the  heart 
of  the  loving,  anxious  wife  ^i-e\v  heavy  within  her.  Sad 
news  '.  What  sad  news  could  there  be  affecting  her  or  hers? 
And,  if  there  was  sad  news  about  any  one  else,  why  could 
she  not  have  said  what  it  was  .' 

She  was  the  third  who  went  home  that  day  with  a  terri- 
ble sense  of  foreboding.  Her  pretty  house  seemed  almost 
to  oppress  her.  Sne  wished  that  she  had  not  burdened  her 


34  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

self  with  a  nursery  governess ;  as  for  the  new  silk  dress, 
it  no  longer  gave  her  the  least  pleasure.  What  was  this 
cloud  hanging  over  her  husband  and  her  children  >.  Was 
it  only  nervous  fancy,  or  was  there  evil  looming  in  the 
distance  ? 

She  was  soon  to  know,  and  when  she  did  know  it  proved 
to  be  even  g-reater  than  she  feared. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"GIVE  THE  MONEY  BACK  AGAIN." 

"  I  am  very  sorry — I  think  it  unjust ;  but  it  is  quite  im- 
possible to  say  how  it  will  end,"  said  George  Malcolm,  the 
lawyer. 

For  the  secret  was  known  now — the  shadow  had  become 
a  substance,  the  vague  fancies  had  all  assumed  a  form,  the 
airy  nothings  had  become  realities  so  stern  and  so  cruel 
that  they  had  driven  Darcy  Lonsdale  almost  to  despair. 
Mrs.  Hardman's  heir-at-law,  James  Hardmaii,  had  given 
legal  notice  that  he  intended  to  contest  his  relative's  will 
on  the  ground  of  undue  influence.  He  maintained — and 
nothing  could  shake  his  opinion — that  Darcy  Lonsdale  had 
taken  undue  advantage  of  his  position,  that  he  had  influ  • 
enced  a  weak-minded  woman,  and  had  persuaded  her  to 
leave  him  the  half  of  her  money.  It  was  a  clever  ruse,  ad- 
vising her  to  send  for  another  lawyer ;  but  it  would  not 
help  him. 

Mr.  Lonsdale  found  that  the  rumors  about  him  had  been 
growing  daily,  that  his  friends  and  neighbors  were  all 
talking  of  him,  while  he  himself  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
of  the  mischief  that  was  abroad.  James  Hardman  had  been 
in  Lilford — that  he  knew,  and  the  fact  had  not  interested 
him  in  any  way ;  but  he  did  not  know  that  James  Hard- 
man had  been  silently  destroying  his  reputation,  had  called 
upon  his  old  friends,  and  had,  in  the  most  subtle  fashion, 
insinuated  that  there  had  been  a  conspiracy  against  him, 
and  that  he  intended  to  dispute  the  will.  Every  one  in 
Lilford  knew  this  before  the  least  rumor  of  it  reached  Darcy 
Lonsdale.  He  went  at  once  to  Mr.  Malcolm,  but  the  hon- 
est lawyer  had  no  cheering  news  for  him. 

"  I  am  a  lawyer  my  self ,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can  never  tell 
how  a  lawsuit  may  end  ;  it  may  take  the  right  turn,  and 
again  it  may  take  a  wrong  one. " 

"But,"  returned  Darcy  Lonsdale,  "Mrs.  Hardman  meant 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WO^fAN'.  35 

me  to  have  the  money,  did  she  not  ?  That  one  broad  fact  no 
one  can  dispute." 

"  I  believe  honestly  that  she  intended  you  to  have  it.  I 
know  she  did.  She  talked  to  me  for  some  time  about  the 
good  it  would  do  to  you  and  your  children." 

"Then  what  can  there  !>;>  foun^  to  dispute?  She  intended 
to  give  me  the  money,  /.ml  she  did  give  it — what  is  it  to 
any  one?"  cried  Darcy  Lonsdale. 

"The  law  deals  heavily  with  cases  like  this.  James 
Hard  man  will  plead  that  lie  is  heir-at-law,  that  he  is  the 
rightful  heir  of  the  late  Elizabeth  Hardman,  that  he  had 
brought  up  in  expectation  of  receiving  the  money, 
and  that  yon  1;  n  an  undue  advantage  of  your  posi- 

tion as  her  legal  adviser  and  friend  to  induce  her  to  leave 
it  to  you.'' 

"But,"  declared  Mr.  Lonsdale,  "I  did  no  such  thing.     I 

to  you  I  never  asked,  influenced,  or    said    one    word 

to   her  about  it.     How  dare  any  man  say  such  a  thing  of 

"James  Hardman  hns  been  brought  up  to  believe  that  he 
would  inherit  twelve  thousand  pounds,  and,  finding  six  of 
••n  elsewhere,  he  is  very  angry  about  it,  and  says  some 
bitter  tbii  . 

u  But  how  is  it  possible  that  any  one  who  knows  me  could 
believe  that  I  have  acted  unfairly:1  H<>\v  can  my  old 
friends  and  neighbors  believe  it ?  I  have  lived  among 
them  all  my  life — they  oujrht  to  know  me  better.  I  should 
not  believe  such  a  scandal  of  any  one  of  them1' — and  tears 
of  wounded  pride  and  wounded  alTection  stood  in  his  eyes. 
"What  are  a  man's  friends  worth,  Malcolm,  if  they  be- 
"vil  of  him  so  easily  }" 

" Perhaps  they  do  not  all  believe  it,"  said  George  Mal- 
colm. 

"Then  why  do  they  not  say  so?  Why  not  say,  'We  havft 
known  you  for  years,  and  we  believe  in  you?'  Why  n  >t 

say  that  instead  of  looking  coldly  on  me.  As  I  pass  by 
they  converse  about  me  in  whispers,  and  are  startled  when 
1  meet  them." 

".lames  Hardman  has  talki  d  a  great  deal  among  them," 
said  Mr.  Malcolm,  slowly.  "He  has  said  some  hard  things 
of  you." 

"But  my  old  friends,"  rejoined  Darcy  Lonsdale,  "the 
people  I  have  lived  among  so  long,  how  can  they  believe 
such  slander  C 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  cynic,  but  this  I  must  say,  that  I 


38  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

believe  our  misfortunes  are  not  always  displeasing  even  to 
those  we  call  our  friends. " 

"But  these  people  have  known  me  so  long." 

Mr.  Lonsdale  could  think  of  nothing  so  strange  as  that 
— no  argument  was  so  potent.  He  had  lived  among  them 
all  his  life.  Why  did  they  not  trust  him  as  he  trusted 
them? 

"  If  any  one  among  them  had  come  to  me  and  had  told 
me  such  a  thing  of  another,  I  would  not  have  credited  it — 
and  they  are  only  too  ready,  it-  seems,  to  believe  it  of  me. 
Malcolm,  how  in  Heaven's  .ame  am  I  to  go  home  and  tell 
this  to  my  wife  ?  Am  I  to  tell  h  r  that  a  blameless  life 
spent  in  the  mi<\st  of  people  wh  have  known  me  since  I 
was  a  child,  is  no  shield  against  slander?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you, "  said  George  Malcolm  ;  "  I  can 
say  no  more.  I  do  not  believe  it,  and  I  shall  stand  by  you 
through  it  all. " 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  but  Darcy  Lonsdale's  face 
wore  a  puzzled,  wondering  look. 

"  Can  it  be  a  jest,  do  you  think,  Malcolm — a  jest  to  try 
me?" 

"No,  it  is  no  jest.  Hardman  will  get  the  money  if  he 
can. " 

"  I  would  not  take  it  unless  I  thought  it  were  really  mine 
— I  would  refuse  to  touch  it ;  but  I  cannot  do  that,  for  I 
am  sure  my  old  friend  left  it  to  me  _for  the  children.  I 
must  be  just  to  them.  Great  Heaven,  I  have  kept  a  blame- 
less name  all  my  life  only  to  meet  with  this  fate — to  see 
my  old  friends  point  at  me  as  a  man  who  would  cheat  his 
•client.  I  wish  I  had  been  dead  before  I  had  known  this. 
Tell  me  what  Hardman  is  going  to  do." 

"  He  has  placed  the  whole  matter  in  the  hands  of  a  Lon- 
don firm,  and  the  trial  will  come  on  about  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember. You  must  prepare  your  defense  and  look  up  your 
witnesses. " 

" If  my  whole  life  does  not  witness  for  me,"  said  Darcy 
Lonsdaie,  with  quiet  dignity,  "  then  the  words  of  no  man 
can  benefit  me." 

He  dreaded  going  home — for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
disliked  passing  through  the  streets  of  his  native  town, 
for  the  first  time  he  shrank  from  the  glances  and  words  of 
his  old  comrades. 

"  Heaven  help  Kate  I"  he  said  to  himself.  "  How  am  I  to 
tell  her  ?" 

But  Kate  knew  already — such  news  travels  fast.  It  was 
no  weeping,  hysterical  wife  who  clung  to  him,  half  mad 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  37 

with  womanish  fear ;  a  bright,  tender  face  looked  into  his, 
sweet,  warm,  white  hands  clasped  his,  loving  lips  kissed 
him,  a  brave,  bright  voice  cheered  him  with  the  music  of 
home  words. 

"I  have  heard  all  about  it,  Darcy,"  said  his  wife.  "Never 
mind — no  one  can  injure  you.  You  are  innocent,  honest, 
and  honorable.  Never  mind  what  any  one  says — Heaven 
knows  the  truth,  and  I  love  you  all  the  more  that  you  bear 
this  blame  so  well." 

Darcy  Lonsdale  was  relieved  to  find  his  wife  so  cheerful, 
and  they  sat  down  to  discuss  their  difficulty. 

"Give  the  money  back  again,  Darcy,"  said  his  wife.  "If 
I  were  in  your  place  I  would  not  touch  one  shilling  of  it. " 

"  If  I  did  that  it  would  lock  as  though  I  feared  inquiry, 
as  though  I  knew  that  I  had  gained  it  by  wrong  means, 
and  remorse  compelled  me  to  return  it.  It  seems  to  me  now 
that  I  am  compelled,  in  justification  of  my  own  honor,  to 
keep  it — Mrs.  Hardman  certainly  meant  me  to  have  it. 
Then  there  are  the  children — I  cannot  rob  them;  I  must 
not  take  from  them  what  is  really  theirs." 

"But,"  said  his  wife,  "if  there  should  be  a  trial,  and  it 
should  go  against  you  ?" 

"  Then  I  must  bear  it  like  a  man,  Kate.  I  have  had  many 
blessings-— if  it  pleases  Heaven  to  send  me  a  reverse,  I 
must  not  complain." 

But,  for  all  that,  she  knew  that  his  heart  was  soro  and 
heavy,  and  that  he  was  disturbed  by  a  hundred  doubts  and 
fears.  She  soothed  him,  comforted  him,  and  did  her  best 
to  encourage  him;  but  she  could  not  persuade  him  to  for^ul 
his  trouble  for  a  moment— it  was  always  in  his  thou^iirs. 

Vresently  Felix  came  in,  and  one  glance  at  his  son's  face 

told  Darcy  Lonsdale  that  he  had  heard   the   whole  story. 

The  handsome    young  face   was  full  of  emotion,     lie    went 

straight   up  to  his  father,  and  laid  his  hand   lovingly  upon 

boulder. 

"Let  me  help  you,  father,"  lie  said.     "No  man  shall 
one  word  against  you  while  T  live." 

And  the  two  men  — father  and  son — shook  hands.  There 
was  more  expressed  in  that  silent  grasp  than  there  could 
have  been  in  a  volume  of  wor 

"  You  have  heard  the  story,  I  suppose,  Felix?"  said  Mrs. 
Lonsdale. 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  it,  and  a  more  cruelly  unjust  story 
never  was  told.  Let  me  help  to  fi^ht  your  battle,  father.  1 
should  like  to  1a!«  every  man  who  believes  the  story,  or 
who  affects  to  believe  it,  and  thrash  him." 


38  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  My  dear  Felix  !"  exclaimed  gentle  Mrs.  Lonsdale. 

"So  I  should,  madre,"  and  the  young,  handsome  faco 
deepened  with  angry  scorn  for  every  one  who  should  har- 
bor an  evil  thought  of  one  so  beloved.  The  love  between 
father  and  son  was  almost  pathetic  in  its  intensity. 

Presently  Mrs.  Lonsdale  said,  musingly  : 

"  What  will  Violet  say  when  she  hears  it  ?" 

"  Say  ?"  cried  Felix.  "  She  will  be  indignant.  She  will 
agree  with  me  that  any  man  who  listens  to  it  ought  to  be 
shot.  Why  do  you  look  so  strangely  at  me,  madre  ?" 

"I  was  wondering,"  she  said,  "whether  this  would  make 
any  difference  to  her  or  to  her  parents — I  mean  in  respect 
to  yourself. " 

"  Difference  ?  No — yet  I  am  wrong.  Yes,  it  will  make 
this  one  difference.  She  will  love  me  the  better,  and  cling 
to  me  the  more.  I  have  no  doubt  about  Violet — my  swrvt 
Violet.  It  is  the  one  thing  needed  to  quicken  her  love  for 
me  with  a  new,  strange  life." 

He  wondered  why  Mrs.  Lonsdale  sighed.  Why  need  any 
one  sigh?  Violet's  love,  Violet's  faith,  was  his  rock  of 
refuge.  To  doubt  her  would  be  death. 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  he  said,  throwing  back  his  head 
proudly.  "Violet  will  love  me  now  as  she  has  never  loved 
me  before.  My  only  trouble  is  about  my  dear  father,  and 
what  I  can  do  to  help  him. " 

They  talked  until  long  after  midnight ;  they  looked  the 
evil  in  the  face.  If  they  went  to  law,  and  the  law  was 
against  them,  what  then  ?  They  would  be  dreadfully  em- 
barrassed for  ready  money.  The  nursery  govei'ness  must 
go,  but  they  could  remain  at  Vale  House,  and  the  partner- 
ship should  not  be  dissolved. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"YOU  ARE  AN  ANGEL." 

The  autumn  was  come  ;  the  golden  glory  of  summer  had 
given  way  to  it.  The  luxuriant  trees  made  the  woods  a 
picture.  The  yellow  leaves  lay  in  dank  heaps,  the  corn 
had  all  been  cut  and  carried,  the  fruit  gathered  ;  the  gloam- 
ing was  longer,  the  sunset  had  clouds  of  deeper  crimson. 

The  little  town  of  Lilford  had  experienced  a  social  earth- 
quake. The  great  trial  of  Lonsdale  versus  Hardmai  had 
been  decided,  and  the  verdict — no  one  but  the  twelve  in- 
telligent jurymen  who  gave  it  knew  why — was  against 
Darcy  Lonsdale  ;  the  will  was  declared  null  and  void,  and 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  39 

the  whole  of  the  property  was  to  be  given  to  James  Hard- 
man. 

That  was  hard  ;  but  hardest  of  all  were  the  cruel  things 
said  by  the  plaintiff's  counsel.  Darcy  Lonsdale  listened  tc* 
them  like  one  in  a  dream.  He  heard  all  kinds  of  under- 
hand motives  attributed  to  him  ;  he  heard  himself  described 
as  a  conspirator,  as  one  who  had  taken  advantage  of  his- 
position  to  influence  a  weak-minded  woman.  He  listened 
to  words  which  burned  him,  branded  him — which  almost 
robbed  him  of  his  self-respect — which  so  completely  bewil- 
dered him  that,  if  he  had  been  a  weaker  man,  he  would  not 
have  known  whether  he  was  guilty  or  not.  The  blameless 
life  of  which  he  was  so  proud,  the  blameless  name  which 
he  valued  above  all  other  blessings,  were  bespattered.  As. 
he  listened  to  the  cruel  words,  which  fell  like  molten  lead 
on  his  heart  and  home,  he  could  have  cried  aloud  that  it  was 
all  false — be  had  lived  in  Lilford  both  as  boy  and  man,  and 
all  his  old  friends  knew  that  he  was  incapable  of  doing  any 
ire  a  wrong  or  an  injury. 

He  called  few  witnesses.  He  might  have  made  a  far  bet- 
ter defense  than  he  did  but  that  he  trusted  so  entirely  to> 
the  notion  that  his  own  innocence  must  be  patent  to  all  men. 
The  verdict  was  against  him — unjustly  so,  some  saiJ,  for 
the  judge  had  summed  up  favorably  for  him — and  Darcy 
Lonsdale  went  home  crushed  and  heart-broken. 

Those  were  dreary  days  in  Vale  House. 

"  1  slia.ll  never  hold  up  my  head  again,"  said  Darcy  Lons- 
dale, with  a  deep  sob.  "I  shall  never  look  my  fellow-men 
in  the  face." 

That  his  old  friends  should  have  believed  this  of  him. 
pained  the  brave,  honest  heart.  He  had  a  long  illness, 
from  which  it  was  feared  at  first  that  he  would  never  re- 
eover. 

It  was  a  dreary  time.  The  business  fell  away ;  the  towns- 
people said  to  each  other,  with  a  grave  shake  of  the  head, 
that  they  eo-ibl  not  trust  a  man  of  whom  such  tilings  had 
been  said  —they  could  not  leave  their  interests,  as  before,  in 
his  hamls.  One  after  another  the  old  names  disappeared 
from  his  books.  Men  he  had  known  all  his  simple  life- 
fought  shy  of  him,  avoided  him,  and  the  dreary  time 
I  on. 

Felix  worked  hard,  but  it  was  like  rowing  against  an 
jui^ry  current.  There  were  some  gleams  of  comfort;  one  of 
them  neither  father  nor  son  ever  forgot. 

ft  was  an  evening  in  ( >ctober,  dark  and  chill.  For  the 
~rst  time  the  invalid  had  come  down  stairs,  and  the  weight 


40  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

f)f  anxiety  upon  him  was  like  a  weight  of  lead.  Those  were 
days  of  strict  economy  in  Vale  House.  There  was  no  tempt- 
ing fruit  for  the  feeble  appetite,  no  generous  wine  to  give 
strength  to  the  feeble  frame.  Tne  best  medicine  that  the  in- 
valid had  were  the  cheering  kindly  words  of  his  wife,  the 
love  of  his  son. 

That  evening  Felix  came  home  late  from  his  office  ;  he 
was  tired  owing  to  the  hard  work  and  ill  fortune  of  the 
day.  He  fought  nobly  with  misfortune,  but  he  fought  in 
vain.  His  kind  face  brightened  when  he  saw  a  letter  for 
him.  It  must  be  from  Violet.  Who  would  write  to  him 
except  Violet?  And  despite  all  his  sorrows  his  heart 
glowed  as  he  thought  of  her,  his  beautiful  love.  Oh,  to  es- 
cape, if  only  for  one  hour,  and  sun  himself  in  the  light  of 
her  presence  !  He  saw  her  so  seldom  now.  He  was  hard 
at  work  during  the  day,  and  the  nights  were  too  cold  for 
walks  and  rambles.  He  occasionally  went  over  to  the 
Limes  ;  but  the  welcome  that  he  received  there  was  not  of 
the  warmest,  and  he  could  not  see  Violet  alone. 

He  took  up  the  letter  with  a  smile*,  and  read  it.  It  was 
not  from  Violet,  but  from  her  father,  Francis  Have,  saying 
that  the  marriage  must  be  deferred  for  at  least  a  year,  as 
lie  was  quite  sure  that  under  the  circumstances  Felix  could 
not  hamper  himself  with  a  wife.  "Violet  was,"  he  said, 
"of  the  same  opinion,  as  he  would  see,"  and,  indeed,  there 
was  a  rose-tinted,  sweet-scented  note  from  Violet — just  a 
few  lines — to  the  effect  that  she  thought  her  father  was 
right. 

He  laid  the  notes  down  with  a  feeling  of  burning  pain,  a 
thrill  of  passionate  anguish  that  frightened  him.  Nothing 
on  earth,  no  power  of  man,  should  take  her  from  him.  She 
was  his  own,  and  he  would  hold  her  xmtil  life  was  ended. 
Then  he  owned  to  himself  that  Mr.  Haye  was  right — 
cruelly  right — that  without  money,  with  an  invalid  father, 
a  failing  business,  he  could  not  take  a  wife.  It  was  right 
to  defer  it.  He  must  be  patient.  After  all,  he  had  not  lost 
her.  he  reflected.  She  \vas  still  his  own. 

There  came  to  him  a  mad  desire  to  see  her,  to  caress  the 
golden  hair,  to  kiss  the  lovely  lips  that  had  on  them  the 
hreath  and  fragrance  of  roses,  to  clasp  the  sweet  white 
hands  in  his  own,  to  hear  the  music  of  the  voice  that  had 
no  equal — a  wild,  mad  longing.  He  read  her  note  through 
again  to  see  if  he  had  overlooked  some  kindly  word,  to  sen: 
if  she  had  written  "my  love."  Then  he  thought  to  himself 
that  the  little  note  was  written  for  her  father  to  see — for 
his  faith  in  her  was  great ;  he  could  not  believe  that  her 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  41 

love  for  him  was  not  as  true  and  as  fervent  as  his  love  for 
her. 

"  Have  you  some  good  news  there,  Felix  ?"  asked  the 
feeble  voice  of  his  father  ;  and  the  next  moment  Felix  had 
repressed  the  emotion  so  rapidly  mastering  him,  as  he 
crushed  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"It  is  only  a  note  from  Violet,  father,"  he  replied,  and 
the  satisfied  smile  on  his  father's  face  rewarded  him. 
Darcy  i.onsdale  knew  that  while  Violet  was  true  to  his 
idoli/ed  son  nothing  else  would  hurt  him. 

They  were  alone — father  and  son — for  Kate  had  gone  to 
the  nursery — when  the  hall-door  bell  rang.  Felix  said, 
cheerfully : 

"Here  is  a  visitor." 

"Few  visitors  will  come  here;  we  have  lost  a  fortune, 
not  found  one,"  said  Darcy  Lorisdale,  who  had  never  spoken 
;i  cynical  word  before. 

But  it  was  a  visitor,  and  one  whom  they  were  both  well 
cont"nt  t •:>  see.  It  was  Evelyn  Lester,  with  a  basket  of 
gr;ipes  and  delicacies  of  all  kinds  for  the  invalid,  and,  what 
was  heller  still,  with  the  light  oc  love;  and  kindness  on  her 
swi-et  face,  and  with  words  of  sympathy  on  her  lips.  As 
Felix  saw  her  bending  over  his  father,  he  half  wished  for  a 
moment  that  Violet  had  done  something  like  this — had 
pome  to  see  them  in  their  distress.  Then  he  blamed  him- 
self for  wishing  that  she  were  other  than  she  was.  Violet 
:  goddess  to  lie  worsh ipcd  -  -  K velyii  a  mortal  woman. 
w  His  father's  face  brighten  as  the  girl's  sweet  voice; 
soothed  him  with,  well-chosen  words. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,  Eve,"  he  said.  "Felix,  place  a 
chair  for  her  close  here  by  my  side  ;  it  is  like  breathing  the 
fresh  air  of  May  to  look  at  you,  Eve.  Now  tell  me,  child, 
something  that  will  brighten  me." 

It  was  a  pretty  picture-  the  invalid  lying  on   his   conch, 

rl  with  her  sweet  face  and  earnest  eyes  bending    over 

him,  and,  watching  them  at  a,  distance,  the  handsome   son; 

the    fire    burned    brightly,  the    lamps    were    lighted,  while 

outside  the  north  wind  "wailed  mournfully. 

Evelyn  look  up  a  bunch  of  ripe  purple  grapes. 

"  I  want  to  see  you  eat  some  of  these, "she  s.-iid.  "Mrs. 
Lonsdale  told  me  that  you  ate  nothing  yesterday."  And 
taking  the  grapes  one  by  one  in  her  white  lingers  she  held 
them  to  his  lips. 

How  could  he  refuse?  He  was  so  weak  and  feeble,  he 
had  been  so  •  !y  crushed  by  cruel  words,  that  the 

girl's  simple  kindness  moved  him. 


42  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  have  been  heart-broken,  Eve,"  he  said.  "I  did  not 
care  to  get  well. " 

"  You  will  live  it  down,"  she  returned,  gently ;  u  and  those 
who  have  doubted  you  will  be  the  first  to  feel  ashamed  of 
their  injustice." 

"  You  have  never  doubted  me,  Eve  ?" 

"  Oh,  never !  How  could  I  ?  I  should  doubt  all  the  world 
first. " 

Then  she  arose  from  her  chair  and  knelt  down  by  his 
side  ;  she  took  both  his  hands — such  thin,  worn  hands  ! — 
in  hers,  and  held  them  there. 

"I  came  to  say  something  to  you,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  paid 
she  ;  "  and  now  that  I  am  here  I  have  hardly  the  courage. 
Promise  not  to  be  angry  with  me." 

"I  could  not  be  if  I  tried,  dear  child,"  he  replied. 

Her  face  flushed,  and  the  light  deepened  in  her  eyes. 

"You  have  known  me  all  my  life,''  she  said — "have  you 
not  ? — ever  since  I  came  here,  a  little  friendless  child. " 

lv  Yes,  it  is  true,  Eve." 

"  And  you  have  always  been  kind  to  me.  I  have  come  to 
you  in  a  score  of  childish  troubles,  and  you  were  always 
kind  to  me.  Now  I  want  you  to  let  me  repay  you  for  all 
your  kindness."  She  spoke  so  quickly  that  he  could  not 
interrupt  her.  "  I  want  to  help  you.  You  know  that  I  have 
money,  plenty  of  money,  all  lying  idle — for  I  want  none, 
and  Aunt  Jane  will  not  touch  it.  Do  accept  it ;  let  me  give 
it  to  you.  I  shall  never  want  it,  for  I  shall  never  marry. 
Do  take  it ;  you  would  make  me  happier  than  any  one  in 
the  wide  world  if  you  would.  I  am  so  grieved  and  so  sorry 
that  I  would  go  out  and  work  for  you  if  you  would  let  me. 
If  you  will  not  accept  it,  borrow  it  until  you  can  repay  me. 
Do  not  refuse  me — let  me  help  you." 

Felix  had  come /nearer  to  her,  listening  in  wonder  to  the 
passionate  words.  Mr.  Lonsdale  drew  the  fair  head 
down  near  to  him. 

"  So  you  would  give  me  all  your  fortune,  Eve  ?" 

There  was  a  glad  light  in  her  eyes  when  she  raised  them 
to  his. 

u  I  would — double  my  fortune  if  I  had  it,"  she  replied. 

"  And  why,  Eve — tell  me  why  you  would  be  so  good  to 
me  ?" 

The  rich  crimson  flush  burned  her  fair  face  ;  she  knew 
why,  but  she  could  not  tell  him. 

"  Because  I  love  you  all,  and  you  are  my  dearest  friends, " 
she  replied. 

"  And  you  would  give  it  to  me  all  without  reserve,  Eve  ?" 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  43 

"  A.11,  and  more  if  I  had  it,"  washer  answer;  and  then 
there  was  silence  for  some  minutes,  while  the  fire  burned 
brighter  and  the  north  wind  wailed. 

"  My  dear  Evelyn,"  said  Darcy  Lonsdale — and  his  voice 
was  broken  with  emotion — "how  shall  I  ever  thank  you  '."' 

An  expression  of  perfect  rapture  came  over  the  girl's 

•  Vou  will  let  me  do  it  ?"  she  cried.    "  You  have  made  me 
•t  the  happiest  girls  in  the  world  !'' 

The  thin  hands  clasped  hers,  and  the  sunken  eyes  looked 
tenderly  into  hers. 

"Will  I  let  you  give  it  to  me,  my  dearest  Eve?  No — a 
thousand  times  no  !  It  is  not  for  the  money  I  am  thanking 
you,  but  for  the  thought,  for  the  intention.  You  have 
gladdened  my  heart,  you  have  gladdened  my  life — you 
have  given  me  the  courage  to  get  better,  you  have  given 
me  hope.  I  shall  be  so  much  the  better  for  your  coming." 

"But  that  is  not  the  point !"  she  cried.  "Dear  Mr.  Lons- 
dale, do  accept  the  money.  Ah,  if  you  knew  how  little  I 
care  for  it,  and  how  much  I  care  for  you — if  you  knew  the 
pleasure  it  would  give  me,  you  could  not  refuse  !"  » 

He  drew  the  sweet  face  down  to  his,  and  kissed  it. 

"  My  dear  Eve,  I  would  rather  have  this  offer  made  to  me 
1 1  urn  any  other.  You  have  restored  some'  of  my  self- 
esteem,  child,  some  of  my  self-respect." 

Evelyn  looked  up  in  wonder,  for  Felix  had  bent  down 
and  kissed  her  hand ;  he  gazed  at  the  sweet,  flushed  face 
with  wonder. 

••  Eve,"  he  said,  "you  are  an  angel.  I  shall  never  forget 
what  you  have  said  and  done.  I  shall  never  forget  that  you 
have  given  a  desponding,  almost  despairing  m;m,  hope." 

And  again  there  came  to  him  just  a  passing  wish,  a  faint 
deeting  desire,  that  Violet  had  shown  the  same  a  fleet  ion 
for  them  ;  but  again  he  checked  the  thought.  Violet  was  a 
golden-haired  goddess,  and  goddesses  did  not  go  about 
making  offers  of  their  possessions  to  unfortunate  men. 

Kve  could  hardly  be  comforted  because  they  would  not 
iier  money.  She  did  win  one  promise  from  Darey 
Loiisdale,  and  that  was.  that  if  lie  saw  himself  very  hardly 
pushed  he  would  borrow  a  few  hundreds  at  least  to 
with.  But,  though  she  had  not  suceeeded  in  the  one  great 
object  of  her  visit,  she  had  at  least  done  good — she  left 
more  hopeful  hearts  behind  her. 

Later  on,  when  Felix  had  seen  Eve  home  and  Katie  had 
listened  with  eyes  dimmed  by  tears  to  the  story  of  her 


44  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

generosity  the  family  sat  around  the  fire  discussing  the 
event. 

"I  shall  get  well  now,  Katie,"  said  Darcy  Lonsdale ; 
"yesterday  I  felt  that  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me 
whether  I  lived  or  died,  and  now  I  have  hope.  Some 
persons  in  the  world  retain  their  old  faith  in  me.  I  shall 
get  well,  and,  as  Evelyn  says,  I  shall  live  my  trouble 
down. " 

He  had  not  heen  so  cheerful  since  the  first  shadow  of  the 
cloud  appeared,  and  from  the  depths  of  her  heart,  Kate 
Lonsdale  blessed  the  generous  girl  who  had  done  so  much 
good. 

"I  wish,"  she  said  to  herself,  "that  Felix  had  chosen 
Evelyn.  I  should  think  of  his  future  with  hope  if  he  were 
going  to  marry  her."  For  in  the  depths  of  Mrs.  Lonsdale's 
loving  heart  there  lurked  some  little  fear  of  beautiful  Vio- 
let Hayfe. 

8<»  the  winter  passed.  Mr.  Lonsdale  recovered  his  health 
but  slowly ;  the  spring  of  his  life  seemed  broken — he  found 
living  his  trouble  doAvn  more  difficult  than  he  had  antici 
pated.  lie  had  withdrawn  himself  from  all  positions  of 
trust ;  he  gave  up  nis  office  0s  church  warden,  he  would  no 
longer  be  overseer. 

"  If  they  could  believe  that  of  me,"  he  said,  "I  will  hold 
no  trust  among  them." 

And  he  did  not.  What  business  was  brought  to  his  office 
he  did,  but  he  no  longer  mixed  with  his  fellow-men.  He 
had  taken  a  leading  part  in  all  the  business  of  the  town  ; 
now  he  was  absent  from  all  the  meetings,  and  there  was  a 
of  remorse  among  his  old  friends — a  slight  feeling 
that  perhaps  after  all  they  had  misjudged  him.  Still  he 
found  life  hard.  There  were  times  when  the  brave  heai't 
would  have  given  way  but  for  the  remembrance  that  the 
few  nearest  and  dearest  to  him  had  trusted  him. 

Felix  had  had  his  difficulties ;  lie  had  hastened  to  the 
Limes  a* soon  as  possible  after  the  receipt  of  his  letter. 
Francis  Have  received  him  coolly. 

"I  do  not  wish,"  he  said,  "to  part  you  from  Violet — I  do 
not  say  that  the  engagement  must  be  broken  off ;  but  I 
do  say  that  the  marriage  must  not  take  place  until  you 
are  in  a  better  position  to  support  a  wife." 

There  was  nothing  then  but  for  Felix  to  submit;  he  had 
to  irample  down  the  wild  longing,  the  passionate  love,  and 
his  sorrow  educated  him.  He  learned  patience,  persever- 
ance, endurance,  and  self-control.  The  trial  would  have 
been  easier  to  bear  had  he  found  that  Violet  was  distressed 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  45 

about  it.  He  looked  in  vain  tor  some  trace  of  sorrow  on 
the  lovely  laughing  face — for  some  sign  of  iv.mvt  ;  there 
was  none.  She  had  written  a  wry  pretty  note  of  condo- 
lence to  Parry  Lonsdale,  and  when  Felix  talked  to  her  she 
shook  her  golden  head  and  said  it  was  very  sad  ;  hut  when 
he  went,  to  her  with  his  heart  full  of  passionate  love,  pas- 
sionate longing  and  regret,  and  spoke  ahont  their  marriage 
deferred,  she  looked  very  gravely  at  him  and  said  : 
.•anuot  lie  helped,  Felix  :  and,  after  all,  what  does  it 
matter.'  What  differneco  will  a  few  years  make  .'  By  not 
marrying  now  we  both  escape  the  misery  of  li\-ing  on  lim- 
ited means.'' 

IHit  he  was  half  mad  with  his  misery,  and  was  not  to  be 
put  off  with  such  words.  He  took  her  white  hands  in  his, 
and  held  them  in  an  iron  grasp. 

"Hive  you  r,o  pity  to  extend  to  me  T  he  cried.  "Have 
you  no  word  to  comfort  me?  Have  you  no  heart  ?  That 
which  is  a  relief  to  you  is  deadly  torment,  deadly  anguish, 
to  me.  Oh,  Violet,  you  would  have  been  a  truer  woman  if 
you  had  clasped  your  arms  around  my  neck,  if  you  had  laid 
your  f.ice  on  my  shoulder,  and  consoled  me." 

The  ring  of   passion  in  his  voice   frightened  her,  as  it  al- 
ways did  :  she  shrank  with  a  scared   face  from   the  great 
•oiild  not  understand. 

"1  hav:-  to  work  and  wait,"  he    said.     "Oh,  my  beautiful 

love,  1  would  work  for  you  as  no  man  has  worked,  if    need 

should  be.     It  is  not  that,  but.  I  had  built  up  my  hopes,  and 

••them   all  destroyed.      I    had    helieved    thai 

this  year  I  should  take  my  darling  honfte  to  begin  the  life- 
that  would  be  joy  for  me.     1  am  young,  and  feel  keenly;  it 
;.-rril>le  disappointment  to    me— a  terrible  blow.     Oh, 
Violet,  help  me  to  lie;-.r  it  !" 

d  her  beautiful,  half-frightened  face  to  his. 
"What  can  I  do  to  help  you  '." 

"Ki  have  a  shy.  coy.  formal    kiss,  Vio- 

let. Kiss  mo  ?s  th"iigh  your  heart  answered  mine.  Say 
you  are  sorry  {or  me.  and  thai  you  will  love  me  and  help 
me  to  v<  a  .dl  this — my  heart  is  hungry  1* 

•  wished.      She  laid  her  golden    head    on    his 
>  him  that  she   was    sorry    for    him, 

and  then  she  raised  her  fair  face  and   kissed   him.     In  that 
M!  he  welcomed  pain— it  was  all  changed  into    untold 

him  because  it  won  a  little  kindness  from  her. 
"1    shall    bear    it    all    now,  my  darling,"  h>  "The 

wailing,    the    suspense,    the    uncertainty,    tho    d; 


46  WEARER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

enall  bear  it  all.     I  shall  remember  these  moments,  and  I 
shall  bless  the  pain  that  brought  me  this  happiness. " 

A  few  moments  afterward  she  looked  up  and  gave  a  lit- 
tle low  laugh. 

"  How  strange  it  is  !"  she  said.  "  After  all,  you  know  I 
never  qaite  promised." 

Felix  smiled.  He  was  too  happy  just  then  to  think  se- 
riously of  her  words. 

"I  have  give.:  you  the  greatest  love,  Violet,  that  a  man 
can  give  a  v  oman.  You  will  not  give  me  ashes  in  return. 
I  have  no  fear — my  heart  rests  on  you.  The  only  thing 
that  I  deplor  sthau  months  ust  pass  yet  before  I  can 
call  my  darling  my  own ;  yet  I  shall  Avait  and  work  in  hope. 
All  things  come  to  him  who  knows  how  to  wait ;  and  you 
will  come,  my  beautiful  love,  in  time." 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  his  deep  love  and  his 
great  trust. 

He  left  her  that  evening  feeling  happier  than  he  had  felt 
for  some  time.  Violet  loved  him.  She  had  never  been  so 
kind  to  him  before.  He  forgot  that  he  had  asked  her  for 
the  kindness — it  had  not  been  spontaneous.  "  There  is  a 
silver  lining  to  every  cloud,"  he  thought,  as  he  walked 
home.  "  But  for  this  trouble  I  should  never  have  known 
how  Violet  loved  me.  She  was  so  shy  and  reserved  before, 
now  she  is  kind  and  gracious.  Sorrow  has  been  my  sun — it 
has  brightened  my  love. " 

Felix  kept  his  word.  He  worked  hard  and  denied  him- 
self much  that  makes  life  bright,  but  the  labor  was  one  of 
love.  He  could  notrsee  Violet  so  often  as  he  had  seen  her 
— his  days  were  entirely  devoted  to  business — but  he  went 
to  the  Limes  in  the  evening.  On  the  part  of  Francis  Haye 
there  was  a  sort  of  armed  neutrality.  He  watched  the 
young  lovers,  he  took  care  that  they  should  not  enjoy  many 
tete-a-tetes,  but  he  did  not  take  any  active  proceedings. 
He  was  a  worldly  man,  and  after  all  Felix  Lonsdale  might 
accomplish  something  out  in  the  world.  The  chances  were, 
all  things  considered,  in  his  favor.  Felix  had  his  consola- 
tions in  the  shape  of  little  love-letters,  inclosing  violets, 
forget-me-nots,  pretty  leaves,  or  some  rare  flower — letters 
that  in  after  years  were  like  strains  of  half-forgotten  music 
to  him.  They  were  very  simple  letters,  but  they  were  far 
more  dear  and  precious  to  him  than  if  they  had  contained 
gems  of  poetry  and  wonders  of  prose.  The  arrival  of  one 
of  them  brightened  his  whole  day.  How  he  read  and  re- 
read it,  pondering  each  word  in  his  mind,  to  see  how  much 
it  conveyed,  and  then  locking  the  letter  away  at  night  with 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  47 

his  treasures.  In  what  words  of  rapture  he  answered  Vio- 
let's  notes — for  he  had  but  one  love,  Violet;  one  hope, 
which  was  to  win  Violet;  one  faith,  which  was  centered  in 
Violet. 

So  winter  wore  away,  and  genial,  lovely  spring,  heralded 
by  snow-drops  and  crocuses,  came  to  gladden  the  hearts 
and  souls  of  men. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SIR  OWEN   CHEVENIX. 

"  Sir  Owen  Chevenix. "    The  inhabitants  of  Lilford  ut- 

•'icred  the  name  with  awe  and  respect.   Those  who  had  never 

Been  Sir  Owen  made  a  point  of  talking  about  him;  while 

who  had  not  only  scon  him,  but  talked  to   him,  wore, 

elevated  almost  to  another  sphere.     Sir  Owen  was  a  man  of 

note.   He  was  that  much-to-be-envied  person,  a  millionaire, 

and  lie  had  just  purchased  the  finest  estate  in  Loomshire. 

It  was  called  Garswood  Hall,  and  lay  between  Lilford  and 

>wn  of  Oldstone. 

There  had  been  great  excitement  about  this  property.  It 
bad  belonged  to  Lord  Garswood,  who  was  chiefly  famous 
for  his  great  love  of  travel  It  was  seldom  that  he  spent 
two  years  together  in  England ;  ami  now  that  he  had  re 
solved  upon  living  entirely  in  the  east,  Garswood  Hall, 
with  the  grand  estate  belonging  to  it, came  into  the  market, 
and  the  fortunate  purchaser  was  Sir  (  >WOTI  ( 'hevenix. 

Sir  Owen  had  arrived  in  great  state  at  Garswood.  Ser- 
vants, carriages,  horses,  {rrandour  of  all  kinds,  had  pre- 
ceded him.  Every  one,  was  talking  of  him.  The  number 
of  horses  in  his  stables  and  of  servants  in  his  household, 
the  marvels  of  gnld  and  silver  plate  at  the  Hall,  the  won- 
ders in  the  shape  of  magnificent  furniture— these  things 
formed  the  staple  of  conversation  in  every  house  inLilfonl. 
Then  came  the  crowning  intelligence,  he  was  not  married 
—  this  millionaire  on  whom  Fortune  had  lavished  her  ^ifts; 
and  the  excitement  rO66  to  a  great  height  when  this  he- 
came  known.  Maids  and' matrons  took  the  greatest  inter- 
est in  him,  the  grandees  of  the  county  waited  upon  him, 
fashionable  mothers  offered  him  advice  about  his  house- 
hold, about  the  parties  he  intended  giving,  and  about  tho 
people  h»  must  invite,  while  the  squires  were  much  inter- 
ested in  his  stable  and  pack  of  hounds.  The  younger  la- 
dies wondered  what  ho  would  be  like,  and  which  among 


48  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

them  would  be  the  happy  one  chosen  as  queen  of  Gars- 
wood. 

He  must  marry ;  that  was  very  certain — he  could  not  live 
alone  at  such  a  place  as  Garswood.  The  matrons  looked 
mysteriously  at  each  other,  and  said  that  it  was  to  be 
hoped  he  would  settle  soon ;  it  was  so  much  better  for  a 
man  to  marry  young.  Sir  Owen  himself  made  inquiries 
about  the  fairer  portion  of  the  population. 

"  Have  you  any  pretty  girls  in  this  part  of  the  world  ?" 
he  asked  one  day  of  Captain  Hill,  the  sporting  man  par 
excellence  of  the  neighborhood. 

"  I  believe  so, "  he  replied — "  I  have  heard  people  say  so. 
It  is  not  in  my  line,  you  understand." 

"  Exactly  Well,  it  is  in  mine — and  a  very  pleasant  line 
I  find  it.  The  only  thing  I  dreaded  in  coming  hither  was 
that  I  should  find  nothing  but  rustic  beauty  of  the  milk- 
maid sort.  I  have  decided  distaste  for  it,  and  the  fact  of 
the  matter  is,  I  am  looking  out  for  a  beautiful  wife." 

"It  is  a  very  sensible  thing  to  do,"  said  Captain  Hill. 

"It  is  all  very  well,"  continued  Sir  Owen,  "for  philoso- 
phers to  say  there  is  nothing  in  beauty.  That  is  all  a  mis- 
take ;  every  woman  ought  to  be  beautiful.  I  will  go  so  far 
as  this — I  would  rather  marry  a  woman  with  great  beauty 
and  a  thousand  faults  than  a  plain  woman  with  the  virtues 
of  an  angel.  I  like  something  pleasant  to  look  at." 

And  these  ideas  of  the  millionaire  were  soon  known 
throughout  the  neighborhood.  Beauty  was  at  a  premium ; 
the  plain  faces  gave  up  the  contest. 

Sir  Owen  Chevenix  very  soon  became  the  great  man  of 
the  county.  He  did  not  like  Oldstone,  but  he  did  like  Lil- 
f ord  ;  he  had  little  patience  with  the  gentry,  but  he  liked 
the  sporting  squires.  He  was  so  lavish  in  his  orders,  so 
extravagant  in  bis  expenditures,  that  the  tradesmen  of  Lil- 
ford  looked  upon  him  as  an  especial  gift  of  Povidmre, 
while  his  coming  seemed  to  have  given  fresh  life  to  the 
.county. 

When  the  month  of  blossoms  came  round  Sir  Owen  was 
quite  settled  at  Garswood.  He  had  won  golden  opinions 
by  not  going  up  to  town  for  the  season.  Now  that  he  was 
a  landed  proprietor,  he  declared  his  intention  of  remaining 
on  his  land. 

He  had  already  attended  one  or  two  meetings  of  differ- 
ent kinds  at  Lilt'ord,  and  he  received  an  invitation  from 
Doctor  Hunter,  the  vicar,  to  attend  the  annual  festival  of 
the  school-children,  held  always  in  the  month  of  May.  At 
first  he  had  thrown  it  contemptuously  aside.  What  ha.d 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  49 

he,  the  sporting  baronet,  as  he  liked  to  hear  himself  called, 
if)  do  with  school-children?  He  sent  a  check  which  caused 
the  good  vicar  to  open  his  eyes.  Then,  some  one  having 
told  him  that  all  the  elite  of  the  neighborhood  attended  the 

fcti',  ho  went. 

In  a.  field  near  the  vicarage  the  school-children  played  to 
their  hearts'  content ;  while  in  the  vicarage  grounds  the 
.'f/ff  on  joyed  themselves  in  quieter  fashion.  The  military 
i  >and  from  Oldstone  was  there,  pretty  white  tents  were 
d,  there  were  croquet  and  law  tennis,  quadrilles  for 
those  who  liked  dancing,  and  archery  for  those  who  en- 
joyed shooting.  Sir  Owen  Chevenix,  having  heard  that  all 
the  pretty  tfirls  in  the  neighborhood  would  be  there,  de- 
cided on  going  himself.  No  one  but  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Hun- 
ter knew  of  his  intention,  and  they  had  kept  it  a  secret,  in- 
tending to  surprise  their  guests.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
beautiful  Violet  Haye  was  to  be  there.  Evelyn  Lester  had 
been  invited,  and  the  vicar  had  discussed  with  his  wife  the 
advisability  of  sending  an  invitation  to  Felix  Lonsdale. 

"There  is  a  black  mark  against  the  whole  family,"  said 
the  vicar,  who  forgot  at  times  that  his  gospel  was  the  gos- 
pel of  peaee,  and  thought  more  of  justice  than  of  mercy. 
"1  do  not  say  that  Darcy  Lonsdale  was  guilty  of  that  which 
was  laid  to  his  eharge,  but  there  is  a  mark  against  him.'1 

-  A-a.inst  the  father,  David,  but  not  the  son,"  corrected 
his  wife. 

•  You  might  as  well  try  to  distinguish   between  husband 
and  wife  as  between  father  and  son,"  rejoined  the  vicar. 

"There  is  another  thing,"  said  the  diplomatic  lady;  "we 
must  ask  Violet.  Have.  She  is,  in  truth,  the  greatest  at- 
traction we  shall  ha  ve  to  ofl'er,  and,  as  they  are  lovers,  I 
do  not  quite  see  how  they  can  be  parted  on  such  an  occa- 

"  1  shall  do  it  against  my  will,"  remarked  the  vicar. 
'•  Well,  that  is  tar  Letter  than  not  doing  it  at  r.ll,"  replied 
Mrs.  Hunter.   "It  will  be  a  kind  of  test;  if  we  see  that  poo- 
-<-em  shy  of  Felix   Lonsdale,  we  must  not  ask   him 
in." 

So  Felix  received  an  invitation.  If  he  had  known  how 
and  why  it  uas  iriven  to  him  he  would  have  placed  it  under 
his  heel  and  have  gone  twenty  miles  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion; as  it  was,  it  gave  him  unbounded  pleasure.  He  was 
to  meet  Violet;  he  would  spend  a  whole  half  day  with  her; 
•uld  see  her  beautiful  and  admired,  yet  with  the  proud 
consciousness  that  she  was  his — all  his — his  promised  wife; 
and  when  he  reached  that  point  in  his  reflections  he  re- 


50  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

membered  how  she  had  raised  her  face  to  his  with  the 
laughing  words,  "  I  have  not  quite  promised. "  Still  that 
meant  nothing ;  there  was  no  truth  so  sure  as  Violet's. 

The  prospect  of  that  one  day  to  be  spent  with  her  de- 
lighted him.  He  sat  up  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  so 
that  by  his  unusual  holiday  business  might  not  suffer.  It 
seemed  to  him  the  time  would  never  come  when  he  would 
meet  Violet. 

Nor  had  beautiful  Violet  Haye  been  unmindful  of  the 
coming  fete.  Her  father  had  looked  grave  over  the  milli- 
ner's bill  when  it  was  given  to  him ;  but  Violet  had  deter- 
mined on  being  queen  of  the  fete.  Mrs.  Brownson,  Mrs, 
Boulders,  and  Miss  Stanley  would  certainly  be  there,  per- 
haps even  Lady  Balfe,  and  she  must  be  dressed  suitably  to 
meet  these  potentates. 

A  beautiful  costume  of  white  muslin,  rich  lace,  and  blue 
ribbons  was  provided,  with  a  wonderful  little  hat  that 
seemed  to  be  made  of  feathers ;  and  Violet  decided  that  she 
had  never  looked  so  well  before.  She  pictured  to  1. 
an  easy  sovereignty.  Eve  Lester  was  the  only  one  she 
feared,  but  then  Eve  was  never  given  to  dress  and  flirta- 
tion. 

The  month  of  May  had  never  set  in  more  beautifully. 
The  world  was  all  thrilling  with  new  life,  the  green  leaves 
were  springing  on  the  trees,  the  hedges  pink  and  white  with 
hawthorn,  the  violets  nestling  in  the  fields,  the  primroses 
growing  in  great  golden  clusters  at  the  foot  of  the  trees  ; 
the  air  Avas  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  a  thousand  sweet 
flowers,  all  nature  glad  and  bright.  To  be  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  beauty,  and  with  Violet,  was  something  for  Felix 
to  dream  of. 

Lovely,  laughing  May  had  given  her  fairest  hours  for  the 
fete  ;  every  one  was  full  of  congratulations — the  sunshine, 
the  music,  everything  was  so  beautiful.  Felix  saw  nothing 
but  the  bright  face  of  his  love.  They  walked  over  the 
smooth  green  lawns  together,  and  then  Violet,  turning  sud- 
denly to  her  lover,  said  : 

"  Have  you  heard  all  the  wonderful  stories  about  the  new 
corner,  Sir  Owen  Chevenix  ?'' 

"I  find  but  little  time  for  gossip,"  he  replied;  "still  I 
have  heard  that  he  is  wealthy,  and  likes  to  spend  his  money 
freely." 

Violet's  face  had  quite  a  light  upon  it  as  she  continued  : 

"  People  say  that  his  plate  is  superb.  Felix,  I  should 
like  to  eat  my  dinner  off  a  golden  plate. " 

"It  would  be  no  better  for  that.  Violet.'*  he  replied,  long- 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  51 

ing  with  all  his  heart  to  be  able  to  make  her  such  a  pres- 
ent. "  You  know  the  saying  about  the  dish  of  herbs?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  but  I  do  hot  believe  in  it.  How  won- 
derful it  must  be,  Felix,  to  live  in  such  a  grand  house,  to 
have  so  much  money  and  so  many  luxuries  !" 

"I  know  something  that  I  would  rather  have  than  all  Sir 
Owen's  luxuries,"  said  Felix. 

"  What  is  it  f  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Your  love,  Violet. "  And  she  knew  that  he  meant  what 
he  said. 


CHAPTER  X. 
"WHAT  A  HORRIBLE  MAN!" 

Under  one  of  the  spreading  elms  on  the  vicarage  lawn 
sfood  Violet  Haye,  talking  to  her  lover.  They  were  wat.ch- 
te  contest  for  a  silver  arrow,  enjoying  the  failures 
and  mistakes  which  were  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  sue- 
.  The  sunlight  fell  on  her,  tinging  the  golden  hair 
with  deeper  gold,  making  the  fair  ilower  like  face  still 
More  fair,  brightening  the  white  dress  with  golden  gleams. 
As  she  stood  there  her  crimson  lips  parted,  smiling  at  the 
bright  s-cene  before  her,  she  looked  like  a,  picture  of  some- 
thing almost  too  fair  and  ethereal  for  earth.  Her  lover  was 
near  her.  For  him  the  fete  held  naught  hut  Violet,  lie 
ipposed  to  be  watching  the  archers-  he  was  looking 
at  Violet.  The  sunlight  was  not  so  fair  to  him  as  IN-  light 
)ii  her  eyes.  The  harmony  that  came  from  the  whispering 
wind,  the  silvery  murmur  of  laughter,  the  notes  of  the  air 
xhat  the  hand  was  playing  held  not  such  music  as  her 
voice.  Many  eyes  lingered  mi  the  handsome  rm;ple  under 
the  great  elm.  Men  looked  with  envy.  Many  a  man  there 
would  have  given  half  he  had  in  the  world  tn  stand  by 
Violefssideasa.n  accepted  suitor.  Women  looked  with 
jealous  admiration;  they  could  say  just  what  they  liked 
about  her,  they  could  criticise  her  dress  and  her  manner, 
out  each  one  knew  she  was  simply  the  most  beautiful 
woman  present. 

The  fete  \\  as  at  its  height.  From  the  meadow  came  the 
hearty  shouts  of  the  children  at  play.  Suddenly  there 
seemed  to  be.  a .  slight  commotion  amon^the  guests,  and 
Felix  saw  the  vicar  standing  with  a  gentN-ma.ii  who  was. 
certainly  not  remarkable  for  the  handsomeness  of  his  per- 
appearance,  but  the  vicar  seemed  to  be  impressed  by 


52  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

his  presence.  Then  Captain  Hill  joined  them,  and  the  vicar 
went  away,  leaving  the  two  men  together. 

The  new-comer,  Sir  Owen  Chevenix,  turned  to  his  friend 
with  a  smile. 

"It  is  not  bad,"  he  said,  "but  I  see  nothing  that  repays 
me  for  the  trouble  of  coming. " 

Captain  Hill  turned  slowly,  and  motioned  to  the  great 
elm  tree. 

"That  is  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  grounds,"  he  re- 
marked ;  and  a  curious  light  came  over  the  heavy  face  of 
Sir  Owen  Chevenix  as  he  gazed.  At  the  same  time  some 
keen,  subtle  instinct  which  he  could  not  understand  told 
Captain  Hill  that  he  had  acted  cruelly. 

"You  are  right,"  agreed  Sir  Owen  Chevenix,  looking  in- 
tently at  Violet — "  that  is  by  far  the  prettiest  sight  in  the 
grounds.  Who  is  that  young  lady  ?" 

"  Miss  Violet  Haye,"  replied  the  captain.  An  honest  im- 
pulse prompted  him  to  add,  "  She  is  engaged  to  Felix  Lons- 
dale,"  but  a  subtle  sense  that  such  a  statement  would  be 
displeasing  to  Sir  Owen  restrained  him. 

"Will  you  introduce  me  to  Miss  Haye?"  asked  the  baro- 
net. The  light  in  his  eyes  had  groAvn  lurid ;  the  captain 
did  not  like  it. 

"  It  would  be   better  for  Mrs.  Hunter  to  do  that,"  he  re- 
plied.    " I  am  not  one  of  Miss  Haye's  friends." 

Sir  Owen  walked  quickly  away.  There  was  a  look  on  his 
face  as  of  earnest  purpose,  when  he  saw  Mrs.  Hunter.  She 
listened  to  his  request,  and  she  wondered  at  the  strange 
light  on  his  face. 

"  Introduce  you  to  Miss  Haye  ?"  she  said.  "  Of  course  I 
will,  with  the  greatest  pleasure."  Then,  oddly,  some  subtle 
doubt  crossed  her  mind  ;  but  she  would  not  think  of  it  for 
one  moment.  Sir  Owen  Chevenix  was  the  great  personage 
of  the  entertainment,  the  great  attraction  of  the  fete.  She 
must  certainly  do  as  he  requested.  Why  not?  Violet  Haye 
was  a  beautiful  girl,  and  it  was  only  reasonable  that  every 
one  should  admire  her.  So  she  walked  across  the  lawn  with 
Sir  Owen,  who  was  the  observed  of  all  observers. 

The  sun  shone  just  as  brightly,  there  was  no  cloud  in  the 
blue  sky,  no  wail  in  the  sweet  western  wind  ;  the  flowers 
did  not  droop  or  tremble,  the  leaves  did  not  quiver,  as  they 
might  have  done  could  they  have  known  what  was  draw- 
ing near. 

Neither  Violet  nor  her  lover  saw  the  two  until  Mrs.  Hun 
ter  spoke. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  63 

"Miss  Haye,"  she  said,  "Sir  Owen  Chevenix  has  asked 
me  to  introduce  him  to  you." 

Violet's  face  flushed  hotly — it  was  so  sudden,  it  was  such 
a  surprise.  This  was  the  rich  baronet  of  whom  so  short  a 
time  before  she  had  bern  speaking  with  such  awe  and 
wonder.  She  bowed,  and  murmured  a  few  words — she 
never  remembered  what  they  were ;  then,  as  a  matt 
course,  Mrs.  Hunter  was  compelled  to  introduce  Felix.  Sir 
Owen  acknowl  ed  th  introduction  by  a  few  careless 
words.  The  whole  scene  occurred  in  the  radiant  sunlight 
ID  the  midst  ol  "  looming  flowers  and  happy  faces,  yet  it 
was  the  prelude  to  a  te  rible  tragedy. 

u  A  beautiful  da^  "  said  S'r  Owen  to  Violet — "a  charm 
ing  scene,   too,   quite   rural,   quite  pastoral — the  kind  of 
thing  I  like." 

Bur.  Violet  had  not  recovered  her  composure.  She  was 
quite  unused  to  society,  and  the  consciousness  that  she  was 
talking  to  a  rich  young  baronet,  the  great  man  of  the 
neighborhood,  was  for  the  moment  too  much  for  her.  Ho 
liked  her  shy,  pretty  embarrassment.  He  had  been  ac- 
customed to  women  whose  eyes  met  his  boldly,  who 
him  word  for  word,  repartee  for  repartee  ;  he  liked  tin- 
drooping  eyes  that  showed  the  long  fringed  lashes,  the 
downcast  face,  so  attractive  in  its  sweet  confusion.  Felix 
iiimlo  some  remark,  and  again  the  baronet  answered  him 
with  a  careless  word  or  two. 

''  I  hear  that  we  are  to  have  quadrilles,"  said  Sir  <  )wen  to 
ct.     "Will  you  favor  me  with  the  first.  Miss  Ha; 

She  answered  "Yes,"  because  she  did  not  know  how   to 
refuse  him. 

i-ai  -no  idea  that  this  kind  of  thing  could  b 

in  f.  place  like  Lilford,"  said    Sir   <  >wen.     " 
spir.-H  me  with  an  idea— I  must  really  give  a  /<•/»•  at  <  iars- 

'  That  would  be  very  pleasant,"  returned  Violet,  shyly. 

\voui<.  \i  YOU  were  there,"  thought  Sii  o\\. 
there  you   shall    he   queen  or  the./'.  i<-  if  I  can  n 
Alou<    he  said-   '  Have  von  -wood.  Miss  Hay.' ." 

'      have  been  in   the  'park>"  replied    Violet,  "  but  i    . 
not  seen  tiie  house.'' 

'  There  ;-  plenty  of  room  for  a  f<-h-  there.      I  an    -inite  in 
love  with  the  place  mvself— if.  has  such  line  old    ; 
grand    oak*  and   elms,  such   ferns,    and   all   thai   ki: 

till?! 

Violet  wondered  for  one  moment  whether  it  was  fashion 
able  to  be   always    speaking  oi    "  that,    kind  ot    tiling,"  and 


&*  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

why  it  was  that  the  baronet  had  such  a  dearth  of  ideas. 
She  looked  up  at  him  so  inquiringly  that  Sir  Owen  almost 
involuntarily  said  : 

"  Were  you  going  to  ask  me  anything  ?" 

Her  face  flushed  again,  rememberiner  what  she  had 
thought.  He  thought  her  rich,  lovely  color  going  and 
coming  the  most  attractive  thing  he  had  ever  seen  in  his 
life.  To  give  her  time  to  recover  herself  he  addressed 
some  indifferent  remark  to  Felix. 

He  was  not  gifted  with  any  remarkable  comeliness,  this 
young  baronet  to  whom  fortune  had  been  so  kind.  He  was 
tall  and  thin,  without  any  dignity  or  ease  of  manner  ;  his 
gait  was  awkward,  his  hands  and  arms  always  gave  one  the 
impression  that  they  were  more  than  he  could  manage.  His 
hair  was  black,  his  eyes  were  dark,  with  furtive  expression  ; 
he  had  a  dark  heavy  mustache,  which  drooped  over  cruel 
lips  ;  his  face  was  a  strange  mixture  of  moral  weakness 
and  brute  force.  His  voice  was  unpleasant ;  there  was  no 
mellow  ring  in  it,  no  music  ;  it  was  high,  clear,  and  shrill ; 
but  then  he  wore  a  superb  diamond  pin  ::nd  diamond  rings, 
his  dress  was  a  marvel  of  the  tailor'  •;  art,  and  he  had  an  in- 
come of  forty  thousand  a  year.  What  was  the  grand  manly 
beauty  of  Antinous,  the  grace  of  Apollo,  compared  with 
that  ? 

*'  You  will  remember  you  have  promised  me  the  first  quad- 
rille, Miss  Haye.  I  see  Lady  Rolfe.  I  must  pay  my  devoirs 
to  her."  and  with  a  low  bow  Sir  Owen  turned  away. 

"What  splendid  diamonds  !"  cried  Violet. 

"What  a  horrible  man  !"  thought  Felix. 

Violet  had  been  struck  with  the  gems,  Felix  had  been 
chiefly  impressed  by  the  awkward  gait  and  ungainly  car 
riage.  He  turned  to  Violet. 

"  My  darling."  L~  said,  "  why  have  you  promised  to  dance 
with  that  horrible  man  '." 

kk  Horrible  !"  cried  Violet.  "  Do  you  know  how  rich  and 
how  great  he  is,  Felix  ?" 

"  That  makes  him  even  more  horrible — it  is  so  many  mag- 
nificent gifts  wasted.  You  must  not  dance  with  him,  Vio- 
let, but  with  me.  You  are  mine — you  belong  to  me.  I 
cannot  let  you  go  to  him  even  for  one  dance — even  for  five 
minutes." 

Violet  laughed. 

"I  must  dance  with  him  now  that  I  have  promised, 
Felix." 

"I  do  not  think  that  t  shall  be  able  to  endure  it,  Violet 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  55 

I  am  afraid,  if  I  see  his  hand  touching  you,  I  shall  strike 
it  aside. " 

She  laughed  again  as  a  child  laughs  who  points  a  loaded 
gun  for  mischief,  never  dreaming  that  it  may  cause  sudden 
death.  , 

"  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  have  danced  that  quadrille  with 
you,  Felix, "  she  said,  u  but  really  I  did  not  know  how  to 
refuse.  I  was  quite  embarras  d — you  must  have  seen  it. 
How  jealous  all  the  other  girls  will  be  !  How  Lady  Rolfe 
will  watch  me  !  She  said  the  other  day  that  her  daughter, 
that  insipid-looking  girl,  was  far  more  beautiful  than  1. 
She  is  not,  is  she,  Felix  ?" 

The  lips  that  asked  the  question  were  of  the  loveliest 
crimson,  the  eyes  that  looked  into  his  were  like  violets 
steeped  in  dew,  the  face  smiling  before  him  was  like  a 
blush-rose  ;  that  the  words  were  foolish  never  occurred  to 
him. 

"My  darling,  you  are  more  beautiful  than  any  one  else," 
he  said.  "  Violet,  you  must  dance  this  quadrille  with  Sir 
Owen,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  I  must,  indeed,"  she  replied. 

"  It  drives  me  half  mad  to  think  of  it.  Violet,  do  not  look 
at  him  as  you  look  at  me — do  not,  do  not  let  him  know  how 
sweet  your  smile  is.  Oh,  Violet,  I  shall  go  mad  if  you  do  !'' 

Again  she  laughed.  "  You  will  have  to  go  mad  then,  Felix, 
for  I  cannot  dance  with  him  like  a  stoic,  can  I  ?" 

"  You  are  mine,  Violet.  Ii  I  had  a  lovely,  rare,  and  prec- 
ious lily,  should  I  like  every  one  to  touch  it  and  inhale  its 
sweetness?  You  are  my  own — you  belong  to  me." 

"Here  comes  Sir  Owen,"  said  Violet,  cutting  short  the 
passionate  words.  "I  shall  not  be  long  away  from  you, 
Felix,"  and,  laying  her  white  hand  on  Sir  Owen's  arm, 
they  went  away  together. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"I  BELONG  TO  YOU,  FELIX." 

As  Violet  had  foreseen,  glances  of  wonder  followed  her 
and  her  companion.  Lady  Rolfe  was  bitterly  annoyed ; 
here  was  this  girl  chosen  by  Sir  Owen,  whilo  her  own 
dauirhters  sat  unnoticed.  Mrs.  Hunter  did  not  know 
whether  to  be  .triad  o-  sorry;  of  course  it  was  a,  ^reat  thing 
to  have  Sir  Owen  there,  and  to  see  him  enjoy  himself  and 
evidently  feel  so  perfeetly  at  home,  but  Sir  Owen  should 


66  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

have  danced  with  Miss  Rolfe,  certainly  not  with  Violet 
Haye. 

Sir  Owen,  however,  was  grandly  indifferent ;  a  man  pos- 
sessed of  forty  thousand  per  annum  is  master  of  almost 
every  situation,  and  he  certainly  was  master  of  this.  He 
enjoyed  the  quadrille  very  much. 

"I  had  no  idea  al  fresco  dancing  was  so  pleasant,"  he 
said,  u  but  dancing  anywhere  with  you,  Miss  Haye,  would 
be  the  same,  I  should  imagine.  Who  was  that  gentleman 
talking  to  you  under  the  tree  ?" 

"That  is  Mr.  Felix  Lonsdale,"  she  replied.  And  he  fan- 
cied the  warm  blush  that  came  over  her  face  was  the  result 
of  his  compliment. 

"  Lonsdale !  Is  not  that  the  name  of  the  lawyer  who 
forged  a  will,  or  something  of  that  kind  ?"  asked  Sir 
Owen. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  horrified  by  the  words. 

"You  are  making  a  grave  mistake,  Sir  Owen,"  she  said. 
"  Mr.  Lonsdale  was  falsely  accused  of  having  influenced  one 
of  his  clients  to  leave  him  money,  but  it  was  not  true. " 

"  True  or  not,  I  wish  that  I  were  in  his  place, "  said  Sir 
Owen. 

"  Why  ?"  she  asked,  in  wonder. 

"  Because  you  defend  him.  I  wonder  if  you  heard  evil 
spoken  of  me  whether  you  would  defend  me  ?" 

"  Do  people  speak  evil  of  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  careless  relpy ;  "  not  that  I  care. 
Why  should  I  care  ?  Nothing  of  that  kind  matters  to  me. 
But  I  know  they  tell  queer  stories  about  me.  They  say  I 
drink  and  gamble — they  say  that  I —  But  I  forgot — I  must 
not  repeat  scandal  to  you.  Now  if  you  heard  these  things 
said  of  me,  would  you  defend  me  ?" 

"  How  can  I  answer  you  ?  You  forget  that  I  have  never 
seen  you  before." 

"  Yet  you  defend  this  Lonsdale.     Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  The  Mr.  Lonsdale  who  has  siiffered  so  unjustly  is  the 
father  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  you  saw  me  speaking," 
she  replied,  u  and  he  is  one  of  the  oldest  friends  I  have  in 
Lilford." 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  baronet,  "that  Lonsdale's  son 
imagines  himself  a  very  handsome  man.  That  kind  of  man 
always  thinks  a  great  deal  of  himself." 

"Do  you  think  him  handsome?"  asked  Violet,  who  knew 
that  her  lover  had  the  statuesque  beauty  of  a  Greek  god. 

"I  never  waste  one  thought  on  a  man's  face,"  he  re- 
plied. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  67 

But  Violet's  quick  instinct  told  her  that  the  awkward 
baronet  was  jealous  of  the  young  lawyer. 

Then  the  quadrille  was  over,  but  he  would  not  leave  her. 
She  must  go  with  him  to  have  some  refreshment — he  was 
sure  she  felt  tired.  If  he  had  only  known,  he  would  have 
sent  all  kinds  of  choice  fruits  over  for  the  fete,  but  how 
could  he  foresee  that  the  queen  of  society  herself  was  to  be 
present  ? 

It  was  all  flattery,  but  very  pleasant  flattery,  when 
ofl'ercd  by  a  man  worth  forty  thousand  per  annum.  It  was 
pleasant,  too,  to  know  that  every  one  was  looking  at  her, 
every  one  was  thinking  and  talking  about  her.  t>he  could 
not  help  contrasting  her  present  position  with  that  she  had 
occupied  half  an  hour  previously. 

Felix  Lonsdale  had  been  but  coldly  received.  No  one 
seemed  to  forget  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  man  whose  fair 
fame  was  darkened  by  a  dark  cloud.  The  elite  had  not 
rereived  him  very  kindly.  Lady  Rolfe  had  passed  him 
with  a  bow;  Mrs.  Brownson  had  held  out  two  fingers  for 
him  to  shake,  and  had  drawn  them  back  very  quickly; 
Mrs.  Boulders  had  shaken  hands  with  him  and  then 
i  round  very  quickly  to  see  if  any  one  had  ob- 
1  her.  He  had  not  been  "cut;"  no  one  had  been 
pointedly  uncivil,  but  he  had  been  coldly  received,  and 
Violet  had  observed  it  even  more  keenly  than  he  had  him- 
self, when  she  stood  talking  to  him.  She  had  a  strange 
I'eeling  ;is  though  she  were  in  some  manner  sharing  his 
disgrace — as  though  she,  too,  were  under  a  cloud. 

Now  it  was  so  different.  Sir  Owen's  glory  seemed  to  be 
reflected  on  her;  people  who  had  never  troubled  them- 
selves to  speak  to  her  before  now  were  fulsomely  polite  to 
her.  It  was  but  reflected  glory,  she  knew;  still  it  was 
very  pleasant. 

Sir  <) wen  insisted  on  her  taking  some  refreshment ;  he 
waited  upon  her  as  though  she  bad  been  a  princess  ;  she 
could  not  tell  how  it  was,  but  she  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
left  far  behind  her  the  world  of  sorrow,  pain,  and  disgraee. 
in  which,  through  sympathy  with  Felix,  she  had  been 
living  so  long. 

"Here  is  your  friend,"  said  Sir  Owen  ;  and,  looking  up 
suddenly,  she  saw  Felix  at  the  entrance  of  the  tent  looking 
wistfully  at  her. 

At  first  something  like  impatience  vexed  her.  It  was 
such  a  magnificent,  triumph  for  her,  lie  might  let  her  en.joy 
it — he  might  have  waited  a  few  minutes.  It  was  not  every 
day  that  she  was  waited  ujion  by  a  rich  baronet  and  envied 


58  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

by  other  women ;  she  might  never  see  Sir  Owen  again, 
while  ail  her  life  was  to  be  spent  with  Felix.  Surely  he 
might  have  waited  a  tew  minutes  longer ;  but  no,  he  Wci8 
coming  to  her,  and  her  triumph  was  «nded ,  she  had  ao 
idea  of  resisting  his  will,  and  arose  from  her  seat.  Su* 
Owen  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Are  you  going?"  he  asked.     "I  was  just  about  to  ;~re 
sume  to  ask  if  you  would  go  with  me  to  see  the  -lowers , 
they  have  some  very  fine  ones  here,  I  am  told.  ' 

^be  looked  helplessly  from  one  to  the  other.  She  lid  not 
kno\v  how  to  refuse  such  a  tempting  offer  from  Sir  Dwon^ 
it  would  be  an  unequaled  triumph  for  all  the  guests  :o  see 
her — to  soe  how  proud  and  pleased  he  was  to  escort  tier 
through  the  grounds  ;  but  it  seemed  equally  impossible  to 
leave  Felix,  who  bad  looked  forward  with  such  delight  to 
this  holiday  with  her.  So  the  beautiful  eyes  glanced  first 
at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  while  the  white  fingers  oyed 
with  the  pretty  flowers  she  held  up  until  their  scented 
h'iivcs  fell  011  the  ground.  Felix  cut  the  Gordian  .tnot  for 
her. 

"Pardon  me  for  the  interruption,"  he  said.     "Miss  Haye 
kind  enough  to  promise  me  that  honor." 

He  took  Violet's  hand,  placed  it  on  his  arm,  ^,nd  _sd  her 
from  the  tent. 

The  baronet  stood  looking  after  them  with  Jiore  than 
amazement  in  his  fare. 

"  What  unequaled  impertinence  !"  he  said.  "  Thy  rather 
of  such  a  man  as  that  would  be  capable  of  forging  nail  ii 
dozen  wills.'' 

"Oh,  Felix,"  said  Violet,  "I  am  afraid  you  have  offended 
him  !" 

"I  do  not  care  if  I  have.  Violet.  You  are  mine.  "What 
right  has  he  to  monopolize  you?  I  know  we  are  not  mar- 
ried ;  but  it  is  almost  the  same  thing.  You  are  my  prom- 
ised wife,  and  no  one  shall  take  you  away  from  me  ^ven. 
for  one  hour.  Come  away  from  all  these  people — I  ,/ant 
to  talk  to  you.  Come  down  this  avenue  of'chestnuts." 

He  mastered  her  by  his  stronger  will ;  she  went  without 
one  word.  They  walked  slowly  down  the  avenue  ^i  Chest- 
nuts, the  sunlight  glancing  on  her  golden  hair  and  white 
dress. 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,  Violet,"  he  cried,  with  tne  passion- 
ate impatience  of  a  young  lover.  ""  It  seems  to  me  that  that 
man's  presence  near  you  must  have  dimmed  your  beauty 
as  poisonous  air  kills  a  delicate  flower.  Let  me  look  at 
you,  my  darling." 


WEAKER  THAN  A    WOMAN.  69 

He  held  her  hand,  and  stood  looking  at  her,  watching  the 
r:i'li ;uit  face  with  such  love  in  his  eyes  that  a  woman  must 
have  had  a  marble  heart  to  resist  hii:1.. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "you  are  just  the  same.  You  must  humor 
my  fancies,  Violet.  Does  not  some  OIK;  say  that  'great 
love  is  semi-madness ?'  It  is  true.  You  must  humor  my 
fancies,  sweet.  Stand  here;  let  this  cool  breeze  blow  over 
you — it  will  purify  you  from  even  the  very  breath  and 
echo  of  his  words/' 

She  laughed  a  low,  tremulous  laugh,  but  the  words 
touched  her.  She  stood  quite  still,  and  the  western  wind 
kissed  her  face,  played  with  her  golden  hair,  showered  the 
chestnut  blossoms  over  her. 

"You  shall  not  even  have  the  echo  of  another  man's 
words  hanging  over  you,  sweet,"  he  said.  "Now  the  breeze 
has  taken  it  all  away/' 

"  ( >h.  Felix,  how  much  you  love  me  !  It  makes  me  trem- 
ble to  think  of  it." 

"You  do  not  understand  it  even  yet/'  he  replied. 

As  she  walKed  by  her  lover's  side  she  could  not  help 
feeling  the  contrast.  AVho  would  ever— -who  could 
love  her  as  this  man  did  ?  Who  in  the  whole  wide  world, 
She  thought,  had  ever  been  so  loved  except  herself '.  The 
memory  of  his  words  thrilled  hey;  they  stirred  the  inmost 
depths  of  her  soul.  How  he  loved  her,  this  handsome, 
noble-hearted  man!  His  very  heart,  his  soul  and  life, 
seemed  wrapped  up  in  her. 

F.ven  as  she  felt  these  things  she  could  not  help  noticing 
the  dilVerence.  When  she  had  crossed  the  lawn  with  Sir 
Owen  she  had  met  nothing  hut  bows,  smiles,  glances  of  ad- 
miration, ill-concealed  envy  and  wonder.  Now  that  si: 

again  with  Felix  no  one  noticed  her,  no  one  spoke   to 
her.      It,  was  like  being  in  a  different  world. 

Sir  Owen  had  been  asked  to  play  croquet,  and  had  re- 
fused. He  had  taken  a,  bird's  ev  view  of  the  pariy  —  four 
old  maids  and  a  hopeless  schoolgirl.  It  was  not  in  his  line, 
-urcd  Mrs.  Hunter.  I  le  would  not  engage  himself  in 
any  particular  way;  he  would  only  linger  and  wait,  watch- 
ing for  the  next  glimpse  of  the  beautiful  face  that  hud  set 
Ins  heart  and  brain  on  fire. 

Ilcsa-  -her  at  last,  standing  with  Felix  watching  the 
pla.yers  at  lawn-tennis,  and  the  next  moment  he  was  by  her 
side.  I/i.dy  Uolfe.  eying  him,  whispered  to  M.-s.  Hunter: 

"Sir    Owen    sec  ais    1o    be    infatuated    with    Violet  I  laye. 

Some  one  should  tell  him  she  is  engaged.     Dear  Mrs.  Hun 
ter.  would  you  mind  saying  that  I  should  liko  to  speak  to 


60  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

him?"  And  she  smiled  a  well-satisfied  smile  when  she 
saw  the  vicar's  wife  deliver  her' message. 

"  You  wished  to  speak  to  me  f  said  Sir  Owen,  approach- 
ing Lady  Rolfe,  with  an  air  of  ill-concealed  impatience. 

She  saw  that  he  looked  annoyed,  and  had  recourse  to  her 
favorite  weapon — flattery. 

"  If  it  is  permitted  to  an  elderly  lady  like  myself  to  feel 
jealous  I  certainly  am  jealous.  We  are  old"  friends  of 
nearly  two  months'  standing,  yet  you  have  not  spent  five 
minutes  with  me.  Sit  down  here,  and  give  me  your  views 
about  the  fete. " 

Ungraciously  enough  he  took  a  seat  by  her  side.  She  saw 
him  look  with  angry  eyes  at  Felix  and  Violet ;  but  Lady 
Rolfe  was  a  woman  with  a  purpose.  It  took  much  to 
daunt  her. 

"I  lu.ve  n3  views,"  he  declared,  angrily.  "I  am  quitb 
tired  of  people  with  views." 

"  Clever  men  are  all  alike,"  remarked  her  ladyship,  and 
his  face  softened  a  little  at  the  words.  "  At  least  we  have 
had  a  beautiful  day, "  she  said,  "  and  beautiful  music. " 

He  could  not  deny  it,  or  he  would  have  done  so.  She 
continued  : 

"This  is  the  first  time  that  you  have  met  your  new 
friends  and  neighbors  together.  Do  you  like  them  :" 

"They  are  very  much  like  other  people,"  he  sneered. 

"You  are  sarcastic,"  cried  her  ladyship.  "It  is  very 
wrong,  but  I  really  adore  sarcasm." 

His  face  relaxed  just  a  trifle  more.  She  watched  hir^  in- 
tently. He  Avas  worth  some  trouble  ;  for  as  soon  as  he  had 
entered  the  neighborhood  she  had  resolved  upon  marrying 
her  daughter  to  him. 

"There  are  some  nice  girls  here,"  said  her  ladyship — 
"some  very  pretty  girls — Violet  Haye  for  one." 

Then  his  face  brightened.  She  had  touched  on  a  happy 
theme  at  last. 

"Violet  Haye  is  quite  the  queen  of  the/efe,"  she  con- 
tinued. "There  are  few,  if  any,  who  can  compare  with 
her.'1 

"There  is  not  one,"  he  said,  and  in  her  heart  her  lady- 
ship disliked  him  for  the  words. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  allowed,  calmly.  "J  do  not 
know  who  could  really  be  said  to  be  like  her.  She  is  a 
fortunate  girl,  too.  She  has  no  great  fortune,  and  no  con- 
nections, yet  she  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  that  handsome 
young  Mr.  Lonsdale." 

"  Engaged  to  marry  him !"  cried  Sir  Owen,  with  an  angry 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  61 

scowl.  "A  girl  like  that  engaged  to  marry  the  son  of  a 
man  who  has  been  tried  for  perjury,  or  forgery,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind  !" 

Lady  Rolfe  laughed  lightly,  and  touched  him  on  the  arm 
with  her  fan. 

"Nay.  nay;  it  was  not  so  bad  as  that.     Poor  Mr.  Lons- 
dale  was  innocent  enough  ;  but  she  is  to  marry  his  son — the 
wet M ing-day  is  fixed,  and  they  will  be  a  very  handsome 
she  will  marry  him,  I  hear,  in  the  spring." 

"That  accounts  for  it,"7  he  said,  and  the  heavy  black 
mustache  drooped  over  as  cruel  lips  as  were  ever  seen  on  a 
man's  fact-. 

"Accounts  for  what?"  asked  Lady  Rolfe,  with  a  great 
aiption  of  innocence. 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular !    But  I  thought  he  seemed  to 
'der  that  he  had  some  kind  of  right  to  her." 

And  then,  looking  at  him,  Lady  Rolfe  saw  a  stern,  cruel, 
.set  expression  settle  on  his  face. 

"So  they  are  to  be  married  in  the  spring,  are  they?"  he 
asked,  slowly.  "I  suppose  this  young  Lonsdale  is  very 
proud  of  her.'"' 

"What  a  question  to  ask  me,  Sir  Owen!  He  is  a  man, 
and  has  eyes.  I  should  not  think  it  would  be  possible  to 
tell  how  much  he  loved  her." 

••  1  >oes  she  care  for  him?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

I  >e.-ir  me.  yes.     Care  for  him  !    Why,  it  is  a  love-match. 
She  cares  very  much  for  him  and  for  no  one  else  besides." 

He  asked  no  more  questions,  but  Lady  Holfe,  still  watch- 

iin   intently,    saw  that  the  set,    firm    look   deepened 

every  moment  on  his  face.     She  could  not  tell  whether  she 

had  done  right  or  wrong.     She   had  told   him  that  the  xirl 

"iiratred  and  that  it  was  auite  useless  for  him   to  think 

of  her  :  but  what  did  that  look  mean?     Like  every  one  else 

who  had  any  part  in  nnniin^   Violet  Have  to  Sir  Owen  that 

she  had  an  uneasy  feeling  about  it. 

Sir  O\ven  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  done  nil  that  was 
required  of  him.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  left  her  lady- 
ship with  a  l>o\v. 

"lie  will  pi  to  Lnvinia  now."  thought  Lady  Rolfe.  "He 
will  waste  no  more  time  over  Violet  !!.• 

Hut  Lnviiiia  l>e;mied  upon  him  in  her  superb  costume  of 
mauve  silk  all  in  vain — he  passed  her  with  a  careless  bow. 
The  mon  •  -ed  to  him  hours  before  he  should  be  near 

Violet  Have  ;r_rain. 

It  was  well  for  his  popularity  that  no  one  saw  the  lower- 


62  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

ing,  angry  expression  of  his  face  as  he  crossed  the  croquet 
lawn. 

"I  would  have  her  if  I  wanted  her,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  if  every  other  man  on  earth  laid  claim  to  her,  and  if  1 
had  to  fight  them  all." 

Lady  Rolfe  had  unconsciously  done  the  very  thing  to 
defeat  her  own  purpose.  The  fact  which  would  have  made 
Violet  sacred  to  another  man  simply  urged  him  on.  It 
would  be  a  triumph  to  win  her,  because  so  many  others 
admired  her ;  but  it  would  be  a  double  triumph  if  she  was 
engaged  to  another  man.  Sir  Owen  often  congratulated 
himself  on  his  perfect  freedom  from  what  he  was  pleased 
to  call  "  affected  nonsense  ;"  and  he  was  never  more  free 
from  it  than  in  this  case.  If,  besides  winning  Miss  Haye 
for  himself,  he  could  add  to  that  the  triumph  of  making 
her  break  an  engagement  to  another,  it  would  be  the 
greatest  success  of  his  life. 

li  She  is  beautiful  enough  to  be  a  queen, "  he  said,  "  and  it 
would  take  a  hundred  lawyers  to  frighten  me.  A  man  with 
forty  thousand  a  year  ought  to  be  able  to  do  as  he  likes. 
If  he  cannot  what  is  the  use  of  money  ?" 

He  went  at  once  to  Violet,  and  Felix,  standing  by  her 
side,  longed  to  lift  him  up  in  his  strong  arms  and  throw 
him  over  the  bridge. 

"  Miss  Haye,"  he  said,  quite  ignoring  the  presence  of  her 
lover,  "  do  you  live  here  in  Lilforcl  ?" 

She  appeared  half  frightened  as  she  answered  him : 

"  Yes — I  live  at  the  Limes. " 

His  face  cleared. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  went  on.  "  It  is  a  pretty  little  place  just 
outside  Lilford.  I  have  often  admired  it.  Does  your 
father  hunt  ?" 

"  No— he  is  quite  an  invalid,"  replied  Violet,  half  longing 
that  Sir  Owen  would  leave  her,  and  half  enjoying  the  dis- 
tinction that  his  great  notice  of  her  brought. 

"  Ah,  an  invalid — very  unfortunate  !     Not  able  to  leave 
the  house  often,  I  suppose?" 

"No — not  often,"  replied  the  girl,  looking  at  her  lover's 
averted  face. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him  sometimes, "  said  Sir  Owen  ; 
"he  has  no  objection  to  visitors,  I  suppose?" 

"No,"  replied  Violet ;  "he  is  pleased  to  receive  any." 

"Then,  with  your  permission  and  his,  I  will  ride  over  to- 
morrow," said  Sir  Owen. 

Ho  \vaited  for  her  reply.  Violet  made  none.  She  was 
frightened  at  the  expression  on  her  lover's  face. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  63 

"You  do  not  say  that  I  shall  be  welcome,  Miss  Haye,"  he 
added,  impatiently. 

Sin-  recovered  herself.  After  all  she  was  doing  no  wrong. 

••  \Ve  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you,  Sir  Owen,"  she  told  him, 
with  quiet  dignity  ;  and  then  the  baronet,  finding  there  was 
ii"  chance  of  further  conversation  with  her,  went  away. 

••  .My  darling,"  cried  Felix,  "do  not  be  at  home  to-morrow 
when  lie  comes.  I  do  not  like  him,  Violet — he  has  a  cruel, 
bad  face,  and  there  is  an  evil  light  in  his  eyes.  I  do  not 
like  him,  sweet." 

"  T  wonder  why  he  has  paid  me  so  much  attention,"  she 
,  "and  why  he  is  coming  to  see  us?" 

But  Felix  was  too  wise  to  answer  that  question.  He  only 
clasped  the  little  hands  in  his- own.  To  him  this  girl,  in 
her  lieauty  and  innocence,  was  little  less  than  an  angel. 

kk  My  white  dove, "  he  said — "  my  pure,  sweet  love,  never 
mind  him.  Promise  me  that  when  he  or  any  other  man 
comes  to  you  with  flattering  words,  you  will  say,  'I  am 
pledged  to  my  lover— I  am  pledged  to  Felix  Lonsdale.' 
Will  you  say  that,  Violet?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  replied. 

"  Would  that  I  could  take  you  away  from  them  all,  and 
keep  you  safely  under  the  shelter  of  my  own  great  love, 
Violet!  You  will  not  be  in  to-morrow  when  he  comes? 
Promise  me,  my  darling — do  you  not  see  that  I  am  half 
mad  with  jealousy? — promise  me  you  will  go  out.  If  I 
knew  that  to-morrow  he  would  sit  by  your  gride,  touch  your 
hand,  look  into  your  beautiful  face,  I  think  that  I  should 
shoot  him  to-night !" 

"Oh,  Felix,  wha*  a  dreadful  thing  to  say  !" 

"Jealousy  is  like  fire — it  destroys  all  things,"  he  said; 
"  but  I  am  foolish  to  be  jealous.  I  have  all  faith  in  you, 
sweet — all  faith.  Say  once  again,  '  I  belong  to  you,  Felix.'  " 

The  sun  shone  on  her  fair  tare  as  lie  raised  it  to  his ;  the 
wind  stirred  the  leaves  as  she  said : 

"  I  belong  to  you,  Felix. " 


CHAPTER  XII. 
"HAPPIEST  MAN  IN  THE  WORLD." 

The  fete  was  over,  but  people  still  talked  of  it — of  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  Sir  <>\\-en  CheTenix  and  his  ad- 
miration for  bea.utit'ul  Violet  Have.  Violet  had  said  Imt 
little  at  home ;  she  had  told  her  father  that  the  baronet  in- 


64  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

tended  to  come  to  see  him,  and  Francis  Haye  had  looked 
up  in  bewilderment. 

"Coming  to  see  me  !"  he  cried.     "What  is  that  for?" 

He  did  not  see  the  hot  flush  on  his  daughter's  face.  She 
knew  well  enough  why  he  was  coming. 

"If  it  is  about  that  right  of  road,  "he  continued,  "he 
may  save  himself  the  trouble,  for  I  shall  never  give  in — 
never. " 

"You  will  see  what  he  is  coming  for  when  he  comes," 
said  Mrs.  Haye  ;  "  there  is  nothing  so  absurd  as  guessing. 
I  shall  not  believe  it  until  I  do  see  him. " 

Then  after  talking  eagerly  of  his  boundless  wealth,  the 
beauty  of  his  estate,  the  number  of  his  horses,  Francis 
Have  exclaimed  : 

"  And  to  think  that  he  should  come  to  see  us  !" 

Violet  remembered  her  promise  ;  she  knew  that  Sir  Owen 
would  probably  call  about  one  o'clock.  Soon  after  noon  she 
put  on  her  garden  hat,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  went 
out  into  the  woods  where  no  one  could  see  her.  and  no 
servant  could  be  sent  after  her.  She  sat  there  thinking — 
thinking  of  how  Felix  loved  her.  and  how  sweet  it  was  to 
be  loved — telling  herself  that  she  would  not  exchange  his 
love  for  the  world. 

Why  did  he  dislike  Sir  Owen  so  much?  Whv  was  he  so 
anxious  for  her  to  be  away  during  the  baronet's  visit  ?  She 
had  never  loved  Felix  better  than  she  did  that  morning,  as 
she  sat  thinking  of  him ;  her  heart  warmed  to  him — his 
great  love  had  touched  her  at  last.  She  would  not  g<  • 
home  until  after  two ;  the  baronet  could  not  prolong  his 
visit  beyond  an  hour,  she  thought. 

As  she  entered  the  house  she  saw  her  mother  watching 
eagerly  for  her  at  the  dining-room  window.  She  went  to 
her  at  once.  The  moment  she  opened  the  door  she  heard 
the  baronet's  voice. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Haye.  I  was  just  saying  that, 
after  my  long  ride  over,  I  would  not  go  away  without 
seeing  you,  if  I  had  to  stop  here  until  midnight." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  simple  surprise. 

"I  thought  that  it  was  my  father  you  wanted  to  see.  Sir 
Owen." 

He  laughed  ;  he  was  somewhat  disconcerted  at  her  an- 
swer. 

"Did  you  not  see  that  that  was  my  excuse  for  coming  to 
see  you?'1  he  said. 

Violet  turned  away,  while  Francis  Haye  and  his  wife 
looked  at  each  other.  The  baronet  sat  down  again ;  nor 


WEAKEtt   ThAX  A    WUMAX.  65 

did  he  leave  until  long  after  three.  He  talked  cf  all  kinds 
of  things  which  he  thought  would  interest  Francis  Have. 
His  least  word  was  listened  to  with  intense  admiration  by 

children  of  Mammon.  Then,  after  promising  to  send 
grapes  and  choice  fruit,  after  offering  all  kinds  of  favors, 

nt  away.  Violet  was  compelled  to  go  to  the  garden 
gate  with  him.  He  asked  her,  and  Mrs.  Haye  answered  for 

"  What  a  very  good-natured,  friendly  neighbor  !M  said 
Francis  Have,  as  he,  with  his  wife,  watched  the  baronet 
mount  h 

His  wife  turned  to  him  with  a  face  that  quivered  with 

ion. 

••II"  is  worth  forty  thousand  a  year — forty  thousand  !    If 

you.-:  -man    yu   will   not   say   one   word.  Francis 

— ii-it  one  word  ;  if  you  do,  you  will  spoil  it  all." 

In  11  \  i,.!et  returned,  half  dreading  the   debate   that 

it  sure   must  follow,  there  was  no  reference  made   to 

the   havonet   or   In's   visit   save   that,  in  general  terms,  her 

•d  himself  much  gratified.    The  only  percepti- 

tl'erence  was  that  the  girl's  parents  treated    her   with 

ter  deference  and  affection  than  before. 
That  niirht — it  was  a  lovely  night  in  May — Violet,  sitting 
with  her  parents,  heard  a  signal  that  she  knew  well. 

There  was  a  quick  beating  of  her  heart,  a  thrill  ran 
through  her  veins — Felix  was  outside. 

••  How  the  leaves  tap  the  window  !"  said  Mrs.  Haye.     "It 

\ving  late  ;  we  will  have  the  shutters  closed.'1 
Viol  .  ostensibly  to  see  that  her  mother's 

wishes  were  obeyed,  but  in  reality  to  see  if  Felix  were  out- 
How   lovely  the  night  was!    The  world  lay  calm   and 
smiling  under   the   light   of   the   moon;    the    soft    bree/e 

-lit  the   scent  of  the  pink  hawthorn  in  the  hed'_ 
the   (lover  in  the  meadows,  of  the   violets  in   the  woods. 
Violet,   went   quietly   out,    and   there,    by   the   great    lilac 
bushes,  stood  Felix.     She  had   no   time  to  remonst rat 
he   had    clasped  her   in   his  arms  as  though  nothing   but 
death  could  part  them. 

"Did  I  frighten  you,  sweet?  I  hope  not — I  have  but  live 
minutes  to  spare." 

"Will  you  not  come  into  the  house,  Felix  ?"  she  asked. 
''No.     1  have  but  five  minutes,  and  I  want  to  spend  th  >m 
with  you.     I  ought  not  to  have  run  over,  but   I   coul 
help  it — I  could  not  rest.     I  want  to  know  if  you 
man  to-day,  and   what  he  said  to  you.     Yes,  I   know  "  he 


66  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

continued,  u  that  I  am  jealous.  Never  mind  that,  sweet. 
Jealousy  is  a  consuming  fire.  I  could  not  rest.  I  could  not 
sleep.  I  have  tasted  no  food — my  very  life  has  seemed  to 
be  leaving  me.  I  felt  that  I  must  run  over,  that  I  must 
hold  you  in  my  arms,  kiss  your  lips,  hear  you  say  that  you 
love  me,  or  the  fire  would  destroy  me." 

Once  more  his  great  love  mastered  her — once  more  the 
mighty  passion  in  him  seemed  to  make  her  strong  and 
noble  by  example. 

"Tell  me  about  it,  sweet,"  he  said. 

Looking  into  his  handsome  face,  his  lovelit  eyes,  she 
could  not  say  many  words  which  would  hurt  him. 

"There  is  little  to  tell  you,  Felix."  she  replied.  "I  went 
out  soon  after  twelve ;  I  did  not  return  until  after  two. 
Then  he  was  still  here.  He  went  away  soon  afterward." 

"Did  he  talk  much  to  you,  Violet?" 

"No  ;  he  talked  to  my  father,"  she  answered. 

He  drew  her  nearer  to  him. 

"  He  has  not  taken  one  thought,  one  word,  one  look,  one 
smile  from  me,  has  he,  sweet?  Oh,  my  darling,  if  I  could 
but  take  you  where  your  beauty  could  gladden  no  eyes  but 
my  own  !  It  seems  to  me,  Violet,  that  this  fever  of  long- 
ing is  burning  my  heart  away.  Will  the  longed-for  time 
never  come?" 

"  "^  es,  it  will  come,"  she  replied  ;  and  this  time  she  did  not 
add  her  usual  remark — "  I  have  not  quite  promised,  you 
know. " 

She  was  sorry  for  him.  She  could  not  quite  understand 
his  feelings,  but  she  had  some  dim  perception  of  what  he 
suffered,  of  the  torture  of  his  love  and  jealousy,  of  the 
greatness  of  his  love.  She  saw  such  pain  in  his  face  and  in 
the  trembling  of  his  lips  that  she  did  what  she  had  never 
voluntarily  done  before — she  caressed  him  of  her  own  free 
will ;  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  clustering  hair,  and  drew 
his  face  down  to  hers.  She  turned  her  sweet  lips  to  him. 

"  You  need  not  fear,  Felix,"  she  whispered.  "I  love  you 
— no  one  but  you  !" 

"That  was  worth  walking  a  hundred  miles  for.'*  he  said. 
"If  you  are  so  kind  to  me,  Violet,  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall 
run  over  every  night.  I  would  work  all  day  and  walk  all 
night  for  the  chance  of  hearing  such  words." 

The  dew  was  falling,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  lilac  floated 
round  them. 

"I  must  not  stay,  Felix,"  she  murmured. 

"  No ;  I  will  not  ask  you.  My  darling,  say  only  once  more 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  67 

to  me  the  words  I  love  to  hear — say,  '  Felix,  I  belong  to 
you.'    Say  it,  Violet !"  he  added,  with  sudden  passion. 

"Felix,  I  belong  to  you,"  she  whispered,  and  he  was  con- 
tent. He  touched  the  lilac  flowers  with  his  hand. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  "I  shall  love  every  lilac  that  blooms 
1  KM -a  use  it  will  remind  me  of  this  night  and  of  you. 

are  dew-drops  on  your  hair!     You  must  not  stay, 
;  you  must  go  in,  Violet.     You  will  repeat  my  name- 
e  you  sleep  to-night,  and  when  you  wake?    You  will 
'Felix — I  love  Felix,  and  will  be  true  to  him.'  " 

••  Yi-.V  she  answered. 

He  touched  the  little  golden  chain  that  she  wore  round 
her  neck. 

"  I  wish  I  were  that  chain.  I  wish  I  were  this  golden 
ring  of  hair  that  lies  on  your  face.  I  wish — oh,  Violet,  I 
am  mad  with  wishing — mad  with  longing.  But  I  love  you 
so  «1  early." 

In  another  minute  he  was  gone.  The  moon  was  shining, 
the  dew  lay  upon  the  lilacs,  and  Violet  stood  alone,  her 
heart  beating  as  it  had  never  beaten  before. 

"After  all,  it  is  better  to  be  loved  than  to  be  rich."  she 
thought — "  it  is  better  to  have  love  than  riches.  I — I  A\  ish 
that  I  had  always  been  kinder  to  Felix  ;  but  I  did  not  think 
— I  did  not  understand." 

She  stood  for  some  minutes  while  the  western  wind 
cooled  the  hot  flush  on  her  face,  and  she  became  calmer  as 
she  wutched  the  pale  light  of  the  moon. 

" There  is  nothing  like  love,"  she  repeated;  "and  there 
never  yet  was  any  love  like  his  for  me. " 

If  the  girl's  father  and  mother  suspected  anything  they 
made  no  sign,  they  said  no  word,  and  Violet  was  grateful. 

It  happened  three  days  later  that  Felix,  finding  lie  had 
a  leisure  hour  in  the  afternoon,  went  over  to  the  Limes. 
He  took  with  him  a  little  bouquet  of  roses ;  they  were  the 
first  choice  ones  that  he  had  seen,  and  he  knew  that  Violet 
loved  roses.  He  found  her  at  home,  and  he  was  received 
with  civility,  though  not  with  warmth,  by  her  pa.rents. 
Violet  was  pleased  with  the  roses.  She  praised  them— she- 
buried  her  face  in  them,  and  Felix  wished  with  all  his  h'-arl 
that  he  were  one  of  them. 

While  he  sat  there  a  box  came  from  the  Hall.  Francis 
Have  was  excited  about  it.  It  must  be  opened  at  one. 
could  not  imagine  what  it  contained.  Felix  offered  to  help, 
and  his  offer  was  eagerly  accepted.  The  first  thing  they 
saw  was  a,  magnificent  bouquet — such  as  had  never  nceu 
seen  in  Lilford — the  conservatories  must  have  been  robbed 


68  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

to  provide  it.  There  were  camellias,  red  and  white,  garde- 
nias, stephanotis,  white  heath,  heliotrope,  lemon-scented 
verbena — the  rarest  and  loveliest  flowers  that  grew.  A  lit- 
tle white  card  was  at  the  side  of  it — a  card  which  bore  the 
hackneyed  quotation,  '"Sweets  to  the  sweet.'  For  Miss 
Haye,  with  Sir  Owen  Chevenix's  compliments." 

Violet  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight  when  .she  saw  it.  Mrs. 
Haye  took  it  up  in  her  hands,  and,  turning  it  round,  said, 
in  a  most  impressive  voice  : 

"This  is  worth  five  guineas,  at  least." 

Then  they  uncovered  several  bunches  of  superb  grapes, 
gome  fine  peaches  and  apricots — delicacies  such  as  pre- 
viously Violet  had  only  heard  mentioned — also  a  dozen 
bottles  of  choice  Madeira  for  Mr.  Haye. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  him,"  said  Francis  Haye — "wonder- 
fully kind.  I  have  never  met  with  any  one  so  generous. " 

And  Felix,  who  was  far  above  all  ignoble  jealousy,  joined 
in  praise  of  the  baronet.  But  when  Violet  stood  at  the 
garden  gate  alone  with  him  he  said,  half  sadly : 

"  What  does  it  all  mean,  Violet  ?  I  cannot  understand 
it."  For  to  his  mind — so  brave,  so  noble,  so  incapable  of 
meanness  or  wrong — it  had  not  yet  occurred  that  any  man 
could  deliberately  try  to  take  his  betrothed  wife  from  him. 
He  would  have  scorned  the  notion — he  never  even 
suspected  it,  until  it  was  too  late.  But,  as  he  stood 
there — and  it  was  only  natural — there  came  to  him  for  a 
moment  a  passionate  longing  for  wealth.  If  he  could  only 
make  such  presents  as  those  he  had  just  helped  to  unpack  ! 

"Violet,"  he  said,  half  sadly,  "I  am  afraid  my  roses 
seem  very  poor  and  trifling  by  the  side  of  all  Sir  Owen's 
magnificence.  My  darling,  if  I  could  coin  my  heart's  blood 
into  gold,  and  lavish  it  upon  you,  I  would  do  so.  My  poor 
roses !" 

She  laughed  a  low,  rippling  laugh,  that  sounded  very 
sweetly  to  him. 

"Those  beautiful  flowers  will  stand  in  mamma's  favorite 
old  china  bowl,"  she  said.  "Look  where  one  of  your  roses 
is,"  pointing  to  the  bodice  of  her  dress ;  "they  shall  change 
places  if  you  like. " 

A  passionate  embrace  was  Felix  Lonsdale's  only  re- 
sponse, and  as  he  walked  home  that  night  he  felt  that  he 
was  the  happiest  man  in  the  world. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

THE     RIDE     HOME. 

There  was  no  place  in  England  prettier  than  the  old  par- 
ish church  at  Lilford.  It  was  an  old  Norman  edifice,  with 
quaint  square  towers  and  a  harmonious  peal  of  bells.  The 
church  stood  on  rising  ground,  and  behind  it  was  a  grove 
of  oak  trees — fine  old  spreading  oaks,  that  had  seen  many 
generations  of  men  and  women  come  and  go.  Giv;;t 
hills  stretched  out  on  either  side — hills  with  quiet  little 
hamlets  nestling  on  their  wooded  slopes;  little  old-world 
villages  were  dotted  around,  and  the  old  church  stood  up 
royally  on  the  hill-side.  The  walls  were1  gray,  and  covered 
with  ivy;  the  old  windows  were  of  stained  glass;  ivy 
covered  the  square  towers ;  the  old  porch  with  its  stone 
seat  was  a  marvel  of  architecture  ;  the  path  that  led  to  it 
'  "ordered  by  lime  trees ;  look  where  one  would  one 
nothing  but  ripples  of  foliage  and  a  gold-green  light. 

Sunday  in  Lilford  was  a  day  that  would  have  charmed  a, 
poet.  The  very  spirit  of  peace  and  rest  seemed  to  brood 
over  the  earth,  while  the  sweet  chime  of  the  Sabbath  bells 
sounded  through  the  venerable  oaks. 

Ho  long  as  he  could  remember  Felix  always  walked  home 
with  Violet  from   church;  when  they  were  children  they 
ran  down  the  hills  in  very  gladness  of    heart,  but  now  they 
walked  sedately,  Felix  almost  forfeiting  the    beauty  of  Hie 
fail1  world  around  him,  as  he  looked  into  the  beautiful   face 
of  the  young  girl  by  his   side— Violet    faintly    conscious  of 
the  admiring  glances  that  came  from  all  sides, 
trying  with  all  her  heart  to  disregard  them  because  ii 
Sunday. 

It  would  hardly  have  seemed  like  Sunday  to  Feliv  if  his 
privilege  had  been  withdrawn,  lie  wei  n  tho 

first  Sunday  in  June,  when  the  old  church  was    look!' 
fairest  and  the  sunlight  on  the  oak  trees  was  wonderful  to 

Them    was     Violet,    her    beautiful    face    sbinii 
thought,  like  the  face  of  an  angel  ;  th-m  was  F.ve!\  n. 
ing  like  a  fair,  meek  saint.      <;rea1  was  his  surpri 
Sir  Owen  ('heveni.v  also.      It  was  the  lirst  time  t'lat    ! 
made  his  appearance  at  church,  and  th' 
just  a  little  excited  about  it.  Doctor  Hunter,  on  seeing  him 


70  WXAE3R  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

there,  fondly  fancied  that  it  was  due  to  the  fame  of  his 
effective  preaching.  Lady  Rolfe  suspected  that  the  charm- 
ing Lavinia  had  lured  him  there,  but  the  vicar's  wife, 
shrewd  Mrs.  Hunter,  sighed  and  smiled.  "  It  is  the  old, 
old  story,"  she  said  to  herself;  and  then  she  reproached 
herself  for  the  thought,  and  applied  herself  to  the  Psalms. 

Felix  did  not  think  much  about  the  matter.  He  was  not 
ashamed  to  bow  his  handsome  head,  and  join  with  aii  his 
heart  in  the  beautiful  words  of  the  service ;  but  when  it 
was  all  over  he  hastened  to  meet  Violet.  She  was  standing 
with  her  mother,  and,  to  his  surprise,  Sir  Owen  Cheveiiix 
was  talking  to  them.  He  gave  a  careless  nod  to  Felix,  but 
continued  talking. 

"I  beg  that  you  will  let  me  drive  you  home.  Mrs. 
Haye,"  he  was  saying.  "To  tell  you  the  truth.  I  ordered 
my  carriage  on  purpose — I  did,  indeed.  It  is  a  lovely 
morning,  and  if  you  will  permit  it,  we  will  drive  around  by 
Queen's  Ash." 

He  did  not  look  at  Violet  as  he  spoke.  He  knew  that 
whatever  her  mother  did  she-  must  do.  Felix  had  taken 
her  hand.  He  did  not  care  if  all  the  world  heard  what  he 
had  to  say. 

"  You  will  not  break  through  the  old  custom  of  walking 
home  with  me,  Violet,  or  rather  of  allowing  me  to  walk 
home  with  you  ?" 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  real  distress  in  her 
face.  Sir  Owen  did  not  even  glance  at  her ;  he  knew  that 
his  cause  was  safe  in  Mrs.  Haye's  hands. 

"Violet,"  said  Felix,  "you  cannot  hesitate,"  and  the  girl 
stood  looking  at  him  while  her  mother  said  : 

"  Really  I  do  not  know  what  answer  to  give  you,  Sir 
Owen.  I  do  not  know  what  people  will  say. " 

"  Why,  what  does  that  matter,  Mrs.  Haye  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  Sir  Owen,  Lilford  is  a  small  place,  and 
'everybody'  knows  'everything/  ' 

"  My  dear  lady,  what  can  it  matter  if  all  the  world  knows 
of 'this  ?  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  the  honor,  T  assure  you. 
Xiady  Rolfe  would  not  requh'e  so  much  pressing." 

The  last  words,  vulgar  as  was  the  spirit  which  dictated 
Ihem,  quite  determined  Mrs.  Haye.  Evidently,  if  she  did 
mot  go  with  him,  he  would  drive  Lady  Rolfe  and  her 
daughter.  She  simpered  a  little. 

"Since  you  are  so  kinji,  we  will  accept  your  offer,""  she 
«aid.  "  It  will  certainly  be  very  pleasant.  I  al  ways  tell 
Haye  that  the  one  thing  I  want  to  make  me  perfectly  happy 
is  a  carriage.  Now,  Violet.  '* 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WO  MAX.  71 

"Violet  will  allow  me  to  escort  her,  Mrs.  Haye,"  sug- 
gested Felix. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Mrs.  Have,  "Violet  must  come  with 
me.  I  cannot  go  alone  and  leave  Violet  with  you.  Another 
time,  Felix,  you  shall  be  her  escort.  Sir  Owen  lias  been 
kind  enough  to  order  his  carriage  for  us  ;  it  would  be  really 
impolite  to  refuse.  We  will  1 -morning  to  yon  now." 

And  she  watched  him  while  he  shook  hands  first  with  her 
and  then  with  Violet. 

His  handsome  young  face  had  grown  white  even  to  the 
lips ;  but  what  could  he  do  ?  He  was  a  gentleman ;  he 
could  not  r*ake  a  "scene  ;"  he  could  not  take  the  girl  from 
her  mother's  side  against  her  will ;  he  had  no  carriage  with 
roan  steeds,  and  coachman  and  footmen  in  livery.  What 
could  he  do  '.  Only  one  thing.  If  Violet  was  to  gn  in  the 
carriage  he  himself  %vould  put  her  into  it.  The  baronet's 
hand  should  not  touch  even  his  darling's  di 

So  he  walked  by  her  side  down  the  avenue  of  limes,  and 
reached   the   high   road   where    the    carriage   stood. 
There  were  many  curious  eyes  watching  them.    Lady  Rolfe 
and  the  fair  Lavinia  looked  on  in  angry  indignation. 

"What  does  that  girl  mean  by  encouraging  Sir  Owen?'* 
said  the  mother.  "  Surely  one  lover  ought  to  be  enough  for 
her.  Felix  Lonsdale  must  be  blind." 

"  IVrhaps  he  cannot  help  himself,  mamma,"  returned  the 
philosophical  daughter,  and  in  that  she  was  right. 

When  Felix  had  helped  Violet  into  the  carriage  he  bent 
over  her  to  arrange  her  dn- 

"Darling,  you  would  sooner  have  walked  home  with  me, 
would  you  not ?'' 

"Yes,  I   would,"  she  replied,  and  after  that   the  di 
pointinent  was  not  quite  so  hard  to  bear.    He  had 
faction ;  he  turned  away  without  a  word  or  a  bow  to  Sir 
Owen. 

"This  is  pleasant,'1  said  Mrs.  Have,  as  the  carriage  rolled 
swiftly  alon-  the  hi^h-mad.  "  Violet,  of  all  the  luxuries 
of  life  jrivc  n,,.  a  canifl 

The  luxury  and  grandeur  were  certainly  very  pleasant, 
while  the  novelty  delighted  Violet. 

Sir  Owen  did  nothing  to  alarm  her.     He   i.-.lkni   to  Airs. 

Have,  while  he  merely  Linked  at  Violet.      He  was    wonder- 

fully  solicitous  that  She  Should    be    comfortable,  and    there 

it  one  drawback  to  Violet's  pleasure,  the  memory  of 

the  paiu  on  her  lover's  f.v 

"How  1  wish  Felix  bad  a  carriage  1"  she  said  to  herself. 
"But  that  will  never  be." 


72  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOJUAA. 

She  enjoyed  her  father's  surprise  when  the  horses  stopped 
at  the  Limes,  and  she  wondered  what  her  mother  meant 
when  she  said : 

"  If  I  had  a  chance  of  keeping  such  a  carriage  as  that  I 
should  not  lightly  throw  it  away." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE       BALL-DRESS. 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  June,  the  lilies  and  roses  were  all 
in  flower,  the  laburnums  were  in  the  full  perfection  of 
their  golden  glory,  and  again  the  sun  at  noonday  found 
Sir  Owen  at  the  Limes.  He  had  discovered  Violet  in  the 
garden  dreaming  idly  among  the  roses.  It  was  a  pictur 
esque,  old-fashioned  garden,  with  quaint-looking  seats 
under  the  trees  and  a  pretty  arbor  of  trellis- work  in  the 
background.  Sir  Owen  professed  himself  so  charmed  with 
it  that  he  would  not  go  into  the  house,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Haye  went  out  to  meet  him  there. 

After  the  first  greetings  were  over  he  turned  to  Violet. 

"Miss  Haye,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  on  purpose  to  see 
you.  Do  you  remember  our  conversation  about  a  fete  in 
the  park  ?  You  said  that  you  thought  it  would  be  very 
pleasant. " 

Violet  looked  up  with  animation. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  now, "  she  replied.  "  I  had  forgotten  it. " 

"  I  have  come  to  say  that  if  it  pleases  you  I  will  give 
orders  for  everything  to  be  prepared  for  it.  What  do  you 
say?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  curious  expression  on  her  face, 
while  her  father  and  mother  glanced  at  each  other. 

u  What  do  I  say  ?"  she  echoed.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say, 
Sir  Owen,  but  that  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  very  pleas- 
ant." 

Sir  Owen  looked  disconcerted.     After  a  pause  he  added  : 

"  But  you  do  not  understand.  If  I  give  the  fete  at  all  it 
will  be  in  your  honor  and  to  please  you.  Everything  in  it 
shall  be  as  you  wish — you  shall  choose  your  own  amuse- 
ments— indeed,  you  shall  be  the  queen  of  it.  Now  what  do 
you  say?" 

Mrs.  Haye  frowned  at  her  daughter. 

"You  must  really  show  some  little  interest  in  it,  Violet," 
she  said,  "  since  Sir  Owen  is  so  good  as  to  consult  you. " 

"'Consult' — that  is  just  the  right  word,  Mrs.  Hayo — • 
thank  you.  That  reminds  me,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  73 

"  Lady  Rolfe  told  me  to  consult  her  when  I  found  myself 
in  any  difficulty. " 

Violet  looked  up  with  an  air  of  great  relief. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  she  said.  "She  knows  far  more 
about  such  matters  than  I  do. " 

"But  you  see  it  is  your  opinion  I  want,  not  hers,"  said 
Sir  Owen.  "  I  thought  of  this — a  fete  in  the  park,  and,  to 
wind  up  with,  a  grand  ball  in  the  house.  We  could  have 
Pearson's  quadrille  band  from  London ;  and  I  thought  of 
sending  to  Gunter  for  the  supper.  What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

Her  beautiful  face  paled  a  little  and  then  flushed. 

"I  think  it  would  be  most  delightful,"  she  replied. 

"  Though  Mr.  Haye  is  an  invalid,  still  he  would  like  to 
see  everything  going  on,"  continued  Sir  Owen.  "Perhaps 
he,  Mrs.  Haye,  and  yourself  would  come  to  the  Hall  on  the 
day  before  the  fete,  and  stay  until  the  day  after." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much, "  declared  Mr.  Haye.  "  I 
have  not  had  such  a  treat  for  years." 

"Nor  have  I,"  said  his  wife.  "I  cannot  imagine  anything 
that  I  should  like  better." 

After  that  Violet  could  raise  no  objections. 

"But  you  must  grant  me  one  favor,"  continued  Sir  Owetr- 
— "you  must  promise  to  open  the  ball  with  me." 

Again  the  girl's  beautiful  face  flushed  and  paled,  but  her 
mother  looked  impatiently  at  her. 

"Why  do  you  hesitate,  Violet?"  she  said.  "It  is  an 
honor  of  which  any  lady  in  the  county  might  be  proud." 

"You  consent,  then  I"  pursued  Sir  <  )\ven. 

"Yes,  I  am  willing,"  she,  replied,  inw.i.nlly  dreadinc;  all 
that  Felix  would  say  about  it,  yet  half  delighted  with  the 
idea. 

"And  I  have  your  sanction -for  all  that  I  do.  Is  there 
anything  you  wish  to  suggest  in  the  way  of  improveiiH 

"No,  I  think  not,"  she  replied,  more  than  half  fright- 
ened. 

"What  do  you  say  to  Tuesday  week  ?"  lie  asked.  "Then 
I  can  drive  over  here,  and  lake  you  all  to  <  i'ars\vond  on  the 
Monday.  Lady  Rolfe  will  stay  two  days;  \ve  shall  bo 
quite  a  pleasant  little  party.  1  may  rely  upon  \ 

"Yes,"  agreed  Violet,  still  somewhat  n«"  'lien. 

looking  up  at  him  quite  suddenly,  "  Why  do  you  set.  storo 
by  my  opinion  and  sanction  T  she  asked  "1  do  not  know 
anything  of  these  matters  ;  I  do  not  understand  why  you 
consult  me." 


74  WEAKER  T11AX  A   WOMAN. 

Sir  Owen  laughed  a  loud,  hearty  laugh  that  was  music  to 
the  ears  of  Francis  Haye  and  his  wife. 

"I  have  a  reason,"  he  replied,  "and  a  very  serious  one  ;  I 
will  speak  to  you  about  it  later  on." 

She  could  not  imagine  to  what  he  alluded,  and  Mrs. 
Haye  listened  in  silence. 

Sir  Owen  showed  her  a  list  of  names. 

"I  thought  of  sending  invitations  to  these  people,"  he 
said.  "  If  there  are  any  among  them  you  do  not  like, 
strike  them  out ;  if  there  are  any  you  wish  to  ask,  add 
*hem." 

She  read  the  long  list  of  names,  and  then  produced  her 
"little  pencil-case ;  she  added  two  more — those  of  Evelyn 
.Lester  and  Felix  Lonsdale. 

"That  is  her  lover,"  thought  Sir  Owen,  as  he  looked  re- 
flectively at  them.  "Well,  he  may  come — it  will  save 
trouble.  When  he  sees  all  that  he  will  see,  he  will  be 
taught  a  lesson. " 

Violet  was  more  pleased  and  contented  when  he  smiled. 
She  did  not  know  why  she  felt  so  greatly  relieved. 

Then  Sir  Owen  rose  to  take  his  leave ;  he  was  going  to 
London  that  evening,  he  said,  and  it  would  be  some  days 
before  he  would  see  them  again.  He  asked  Violet  to  go 
with  him  to  the  garden  gate  ;  and  again,  when  Mrs.  Haye 
saw  the  peculiar  expression  on  her  husband's  face,*  she 
whispered : 

"Not  one  word,  Francis  Haye,  not  one  word,  or  you  will 
spoil  it  all,"  and  he  obediently  held  his  peace. 

They  saw  a  look  of  perplexity  on  Violet's  beautiful  face 
all  that  day,  and  she  had  lost  her  animation.  She  fell  into 
long  fits  of  musing;  she  was  unlike  herself ;  but  no  word 
from  father  or  mother  helped  her  in  her  difficulty,  or 
•solved  her  doubts. 

Felix  had  been  quite  pleased  about  his  invitation  ;  he 
•smiled,  and  thought  to  himself  how  foolish  he  had  been. 
What  could  be  more  natural  than  that  Sir  Owen  should 
admire  his  beautiful  Violet?  He  could  not  help  it ;  he  told 
tnmself  that  he  had  been  unreasonably  jealous,  that  here 
was  a  proof  of  it.  If  Sir  Owen  had  entertained  any  false, 
dishonorable  notion  of  supplanting  him  in  Violet's  affec- 
tions, here  was  a  proof  that  he  had  changed  his  mind. 
Another  and  more  generous  id 0:1  stiil  came  to  \\\m — namely 
that  Sir  Owen  had  not  known  at  first  that  Violet,  was  -en< 
gaged,  and  hence  had  admired  her;  but,  that,  now  that  he 
did  know  it,  he  had  changed  his  ideas. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  75 

"Some  one  has  told  him,"  thought  generous  Felix,  "and 

that  is  why  he  invites  me." 

This  noble-hearted  man  could  not  imagine  a  fellow-man 
holding;  out  one  hand  with  a  smile,  while  he  clutched  a  dag- 
ger in  the  other.  He  was  sorry  for  having  misjudged  him, 
and  thought  to  himself  that  on  the  day  of  the  fete  he 
would  seek  out  Sir  Owen,  and  shake  hands  with  him.  So, 
to  Vi  :t  relief,  there  was  no  cloud  on  his  face  when 

he  told  her  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  attend  the  /<•/<-. 

But  he  looked  very  thoughtful  when  Violet  told  him  of 
the  invitation. 

"I   do   not  want  to  go,"  she  said — "I  do  not  like  Lady 
j,  1   do   not   see   the  use  of  making  friends 
with  all  these  great  people — it  cannot  1 

•u  really  do  not  care  to  go  there,  Violet?"  he  asked. 

;  he  Hall.     I  shall  enjoy  the  fete,  but  I  shall 
not  enjoy  the  visit." 
Felix  drew  near  to  her. 

'•  Violet,"  lie  whispered,  "you  will  not  think  me  jealous 
or  d: 

-he  replied. 

"I   want  you   to  do   something  for  me.     lam  puzzled. 
times   1   think   Sir  Owen  must  know  that  we  are  en 
:aetimes  I  fancy  he  does  not;  yet  he  must  know.'1 
"  I  should  imagine  that  he.  does  know — every  one  round 

he  would.be  sure  to  hear  it  spoken  of." 
"Most   probably.     But,  Violet,  let   us  make  sure   of  it — 
tell  him  yourself,  sweet.     He  will  be  quite  sure  to  talk   to 
you,  and   it   will   be  so  easy;  just  a  few  little  word 

ill  my  suspense  will  be  ended — indeed  I  have  not    felt 
at   all   anxious   about    it.  since  this  invitation.       No 
could  -  to  invite  another  to  his  house  if   he   in 

1   doing  him  any  harm.     I  am  quite  easy  about  it, 
Violet." 

And  he  meant  what  he  said ;  he  judged  others  by  him 
self,  and   in   his  nobleness  of  heart  had  no  notion   what 
nieaiiM'--:-;  was. 

The:  irreat  surprise  in  store  for  Violet.     Sh' 

!  to  her  mother  about  her   dress,  and    Mrs.  Have    b.-vl 
said    that   she    must    have  something  very  niee  ;  bu; 
tiling  "very  nice"  would  be  costly,  and  Francis   Hay. 
hard  _re  on  such  points. 

Mother  and  datiirhter  were  discussing  what  was  to  be 
done  under  the  ei]vuins!;ii:<vs.  when  a  large  box  from 
London  was  brought  by  the  carrier's  cart  to  their  door;  it 


76  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

was  for  Miss  Haye — there  was  no  mistake  as  to  the  address 
— arid  with  some  curiosity  they  hastened  to  open  it. 

"It  is  directed  in  a  lady's  hand,"  said  Violet.  "What 
can  it  be,  mamma  ?" 

"We  shall  see,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Haye. 
When  it  was  opened  both  ladies  were  speechless  with 
surprise.  It  contained  three  complete  costumes — one  for  a 
garden  party,  a  most  charming  combination  of  blue  and 
white,  with  a  tasteful  Parisian  bonnet,  gloves,  shoes,  and 
everything  to  match — a  dress  that  Mrs.  Haye  declared 
made  her  heart  beat  to  think  of  the  money  it  must  have 
cost ;  then  an  evening  dress  of  white  silk,  with  a  train  of 
blue  velvet  and  blue  velvet  trimmings ;  lastly,  a  full  and 
most  exquisite  costume  for  the  ball,  of  white  silk  trimmed 
with  silver  fringe  and  silver  leaves. 

Mrs.  Haye  was  amazed  when  she  saw  it.  With  it  were 
white  satin  shoes,  a  fan,  white  feathers  mounted  in  silver, 
a  silver  bouquet-holder,  gloves,  and  a  marvelous  handker- 
chief of  dainty  lace.  Violet  looked  at  the  treasures  in  won- 
der. 

"  Who  can  have  sent  these,  mamma  ?"  she  asked.  "  ] 
do  not  like  to  take  them.  Have  you  ever  seen  anything  so 
beautiful  ?" 

"If  I  believed  in  fairies,"  said  Mrs.  Haye,  "I  should 
think  that  a  fairy  had  sent  them." 

In  her  own  mind  she  felt  quite  sure  that  the  donor  was 
Sir  Owen,  but  she  would  not  say  so.  Violet  had  no  suspic- 
ion— not  even  the  faintest.  She  never  thought  of  Sir  Owen. 

"It  must  be  a  lady  who  has  sent  them,"  said  Violet. 
"No  man  would  have  understood  what  was  wanted. 
Mamma,  should  you  think  that  it  was  Lady  Rolfe  ?" 

"I  am  really  puzzled,"  replied  Mrs.  Haye.  "We  will  call 
your  father." 

Francis  Haye  came  to  the  rescue.  Violet  wearied  her- 
self in  trying  to  guess,  but  she  could  not  divine  who  was 
her  benefactor.  When  she  had  carried  the  ball-dress 
away,  the  husband  and  wife  looked  at  each  other. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  said,  Francis ;  but,  mind,  .not  one  word. 
One  careless  word  may  spoil  it  all. " 

And  neither  of  them  breathed  a  sound  to  Violet  of  what 
they  suspected. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN,  71 

CHAPTER  XV. 
"LOVE    WAS    BEST.** 

Mrs.  Haye  declared  that  it  was  fortunate  rain  fell  two 
davs  before  the  fete]  it  cleared  the  air,  it  freshened  the 
gtass,  it  washed  the  dust  from  the  trees  and  hedges,  it 
made  the  whole  face  of  nature  so  sweet,  so  fresh  and  fair, 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  breathe.  The  air  was  odorous 
with  the  scent  of  flowers  and  of  green  leaves. 

Sir  Owen  appeared  to  time  ;  his  sumptuously  appointed 
carriage,  with  the  magnificent  roans,  drove  up  to  the  Limes. 
Not liing  could  have  exceeded  his  kindness — he  was  so  at 
tentive  to  Francis  Haye,  so  kind  to  Mrs.  Haye,  so  deferen- 
tial to  Violet.  Again  she  felt  how  pleasant  it  was.  She 
saw  deep  satisfaction  on  her  father's  face,  great  pride  on 
her  mother's.  She  was  young  and  heedless,  and  on  such 
an  exquisite  June  day  how  could  she  help  feeling  bright 
and  happy?  Moreover,  she  held  something  in  her  ha.nd 
which  gladdened  her  heart.  Just  as  she  was  starting,  while 
Sir  Owen  stood  hat  in  hand  waiting  for  her,  a  messenger 
came  with  a  note  from  Felix — only  a  few  short  lines  hur- 
riedly written,  but  which  went  straight  to  her  heart. 

"  A1  Y  DARLING  VIOLET  : — I  send  a  few  words  to  greet  yon  as  yon  nro 
start  ing,  and  to  wish  you  a  very  pleasant,  happy  visit.  Yon  will  not 
forget  mo,  sweet?  You  will  say  to  yourself  over  and  over  again  that 
you  are  pledged  to  ine?  I  trust  yon' implicitly.  You  love  me,  and  I 
am  content.  I  kiss  your  sweet  bands,  and  leave  my  heart  in  thorn." 

How  he  loved  her!  She  repeated  it  again  and  again. 
How  he  loved  her  !  The  little  note  pleased  her.  Sho  drove 
away,  with  Sir  Owen  whispering  all  kinds  of  compliments 
to  her ;  but  her  lover's  face  wns  before  her  ryes,  and  his 
words  were  in  her  heart.  They  drove  through  the  magnifi 
cent  park  with  its  herds  of  antlered  deer,  through  the 
superb  grounds,  to  the  grand  entrance,  and  then  Violet 
looked  up  in  wonder. 

The  afternoon  sun  fell  upon  the  grand  old  building,  show- 
ing the  towers  and  turrets,  tie  deep  oriel  windows,  the 
Venetian  balconies,  bringing  out  the  picturesque  oiitlines 
of  the  noble  edifice.  There  was  a,  flight  of  broad  marble 
steps,  and  then  the  great  door  opened  into  an  entrance  hall 
the  first  glimpse  of  which  bewildered  Violet.  She  hardly 


78  WEARER  THAN  A   WO  MAS. 

knew  that  such  treasures  existed — that  such  splendor  could 
be ;  unconsciously  sir  _ru  he"1,  her  lover's  little  note  in  her 
hand  as  she  beheld  the  tiensu-  js  on  the  walls. 

She  passed  through  long,  broad  corridors,  where  white 
marble  statues  gleamed  from  among  pyramids  of  choice 
flowers ;  she  gazed  on  glorious  pictures  and  picture. ;que 
fountains  ;  and  all  the  time  Sir  Owen  walked  by  her  side 
whispering  gay,  pretty  compliments.  They  came  to  the 
drawing-room  at  last — a  large,  lofty  room,  with  an  exquis- 
itely painted  ceiling,  and  bright  with  flowers  and  statues. 
In  the  midst  of  all  the  magnificence  stood  Lady  Rolfe,  with 
a  smile  on  her  face,  waiting  to  receive  them. 

That  was  remarkable  in  itself ;  but  that  she  should  be  so 
gracious  and  so  amiable  was  more  remarkable  still.  She 
welcomed  them  with  courtly,  kindly  words,  and  in  all  she 
said  she  was  seconded  by  her  daughter  Lavinia.  Sir  Owen, 
she  said,  had  asked  her  to  assist  him,  and  she  had  for  a 
time  undertaken  the  duties  of  hostess. 

Then  she  sent  them  to  their  various  rooms.  Before  Vio- 
let had  been  many  minutes  in  hers  a  pretty  Parisian  sou- 
brette  entered,  who  announced  herself  as  Lady  Rolfe's  maid. 

u  Her  ladyship, "  she  continued,  "  thought  that  as  you  had 
not  brought  a  maid,  I  might  be  of  some  service  to  you. " 

For  half  a  moment  Violet  felt  a  sensation  of  shame  that 
she  had  brought  no  maid,  then  of  wonder  as  to  what  she 
should  do  with  one.  She  accepted  the  proffered  help,  and 
the  little  Parisian,  Aimee  by  name,  soon  had  everything 
ready  for  her. 

Violet  had  never  worn  a  fashionable  evening  dress  be 
fore,  and  she  looked  in  real  wonder  at  the  marvelous  white  • 
ness  of  her  fair  neck  and  arms,  and  at  her  rounded  shoul 
ders,  that  were  perfect  as  a  masterpiece  of  sculptiire,  while 
the  white  silk  showed  off  her  graceful  figure.     The  train  of 
blue  velvet  gave  her  the  look  of  a  princess.     In  her  hair 
Aimee  placed  a  beautiful  white  camellia,  and  another  lay, 
like  a  white  star,  in  the  bodice  of  her  dress. 

To  Aimee  it  was  a  labor  of  love  to  dress  Miss  Have.  She 
did  wonders  with  the  shining,  golden  hair ;  and  when  Vio- 
let was  ready  to  go  down-stairs  she  stood  before  the  great 
mirror  in  wonder.  Was  that  exquisitely  radiant  girl  her- 
self? She  longed  for  Feiix  ^o  see  her.  There  was  no  pleas- 
ure without  him.  How  he  would  admire  hoi* ! 

What  a  never-to-be-forgotten  evening  it  was  !  Her  greatest 
difficulty  was  in  keeping  herself  from  expressing  her  won- 
der. She  went  down  to  the  drawing-room,  and  found  two 
or  three  other  ladies  with  Lady  Roli'e.  She  liad  ay  uneasy 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  79 

consciousness  that  they  were  all  talking  about  her  as  she 
entered,  for  they  stopped  suddenly,  and  looked  at  her  cu- 
riously. But  Lady  Rolfe  introduced  her,  and  they  were  so 
startled  by  her  striking  beauty  that  they  were  more  than 
civil  to  her.  Sir  Oven  almost  followed  her  into  the  room. 
How  his  eyes  brightened  as  he  saw  her  ! 

"For  a  girl  like  that  to  marry  a  country  solicitor,  to  hide 
such  beauty  as  hers  in  a  place  like  Li  1  ford,  is  simple  mad- 
he  said  to   himself.     "She   will   thank  me  in  after 

'ig  her  from  such  a  faie." 

Then    he   went  up  to   her,  and  scarcely  left  her  all  the 

evening.     It  was  against  the  laws   of  etiquette  for  him   to 

take  her  down  to  dinner;  but  Lady  Rolfe  accepted  his  apol- 

ith  a  smile.     That  astute  lady  had  explained  the  mo- 

of  her  policy  to  Lavmia. 

"  1  understand  Sir  Owen,"  she  said.  "If  any  one  opposes 
him  he  will  lose  his  reason  over  the  girl.  Place  no  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  his  admiration,  and  he  will  soon  tire  of  her. 
He  cannot  marry  her,  for  she  is  engaged  to  Felix  Lons- 

with  great  amiability,  Lady  Rolfe  had  accepted  Sir 
Owen's  invitation  to  act  as  hostess  for  three  or  four  days. 
She  had  determined  that  she  would  give  him  every  oppor- 
tunity of  being  with  Violet,  on  the  principle  that  the  more 
he  saw  of  her  the  sooner  he  would  tire  of  her.  Sir  Owen 
took  her  down  to  dinwr,  and  sat  by  her  side.  Violet  was 

1  with  wonder.     She  saw  the  superb  gold   and   silver 
the,  magnificent  epergnes.  the  rare  flowers,  the  costly 
wines,  and    richly  cut,   glass.     She   felt  half   afraid   of   the 
well-trained  butler  and  his  noise-ess  assistants — it    w. 

-.plendor  and  magnificence,  that  dazed  and  be- 
wildered her. 

Sir  Owen  gave  her  little  time  to  think,  and  every  one 
took  their '-ne  from  him — visitors  and  servants.  Violet  was 
queen  of  the  evening.  She  concealed  hertrepidat.mil,  and 
carefully  watching  Lady  Rolfe,  she  imitated  her  exactly. 
Then,  when  the  ladies-,  withdrew,  she  was  the  center  of  oli- 

;ion— her  exquisite  l.eanty,  her  dainty  dress,  the  at- 
tention paid  to  her  by  Sir  Owen,  made  her  the  most  impor- 
tant person  present. 

n  did  not  long  delay  entering  the   drawing -ronin  ; 
and  then  lie  selected  ;i  luxurious  chair,  and  enthroned   her. 

•ind  her..  uted  upon  her  as  though  she 

had  been  n  princess  and  he  never  left    her;  and 

she,  looking  at   the  splendor  which   surrounded  her — look 
ing  ar   tlru   wealth,  the   magnificence — wondered  that  ehe 


80  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

should  play  a  part  in  such  a  scene.  It  was  a  night  of  tri- 
umph for  her ;  but  she  did  not  forget  Felix ;  all  would 
have  been  perfect  had  he  been  by  her  side. 

The  guests  talked  of  the  morrow's  fete — they  had  music 
and  cards.  Sir  Owen  gave  Violet  a  lesson  in  cards ;  and 
when  the  evening  was  over  she  went  to  her  mother. 

"Mamma,"  she  said,  "how  delightful  it  has  all  been  !  I 
am  so  sorry  that  it :'  over.  I  wish  it  would  last  forever." 

Mrs.  Haye  smiled. 

"  It  is  more  pleasant,  Yiolet,  than  the  struggle  that  falls 
to  the  lot  of  people  with  limited  means. " 

It  was  pleasant.  The  dainty,  luxury-loving  nature  found 
it  wonderfully  pleasant.  Violet  smiled  to  herself  as  she 
sat  in  her  room  that  night.  Aimee  was  brushing  the  long, 
shining,  golden  hair.  She  was  surrounded  by  every  luxury 
— hangings  of  silk  and  lace,  Dresden  china,  Bohemian 
glass ;  the  room  was  a  marvel  in  its  way.  She  smiled  as 
she  realized  how  dear  luxury  was  to  her  already — h«.  \v  she 
admired  soft  velvet  chairs  and  thick  carpets — liked  to  eat 
from  silver  plate  and  drink  from  richly  cut  glass — liked  to 
be  waited  on  by  well-trained  servants — to  live  in  this  at- 
mosphere of  splendor — to  wear  rich  silks  and  costly  lace, 
precious  stones  and  gold.  It  was  an  entrancing  life,  and 
the  other  would  never  seem  quite  the  same  again.  After 
all,  there  was  nothing  like  money. 

She  dismissed  her  maid,  and  would  have  slept,  but  that 
a  ray  of  moonlight  shone  in  through  the  window.  One 
part  of  the  rose  silk  hangings  had  been  left  undrawn.  She 
went  to  arrange  it  to  shut  out  the  moonlight,  so  that  she 
could  sleep,  and,  when  she  stood  near  the  window  and  saw 
the  silver  light  on  the  trees  and  flowers,  her  thoughts  went 
back  to  Felix — went  back  to  that  lovely  night  whon  she 
food  with  him  by  the  lilac  bushes.  How  he  loved  her  1 
His  face  appeared  so  plainly  before  her — the  love-lit,  t Mr- 
nest  eyes  and  winning  lips. 

After  all,  love  was  best ;  wealth  was  very  pleasant,  but 
it  was  sweeter  to  be  loved  than  to  -be  rich.  And  she  feD 
asleep  with  her  lover's  name  on  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    WORD   IN   PRIVATE. 

The  next  morning  was  brieht  and    warm.     There  was  »• 
hurried  breakfast — every  one  seemed  to  havo  so  much  to 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  8. 

do ;  from  early  dawn  men  had  been  at  work  in  the  park. 
Sir  Owen  came  down  stairs  radiant. 

"  Who  will  say  one  word  against  English  weather  after 
ne  cried ;  then,  when  he  saw  Violet,  he  bowed  low  to 
her.      "The  queen  of   the  fete,"  he  whispered,   and  Bhe 
blushed  as  she  heard  him. 

The  post-bag  came  as  they  sat  at  breakfast,  and  there 
a  note  for  her;  she  saw  that  it  was  from  Felix,  and 
put  it  aside  until  she  should  be  alone.  Looking  up  sud- 
denly she  saw  Sir  Owen  watching  her  intently,  and  again  a 
hot  flush  burned  her  face.  He  did  not  leave  her — every- 
thing was  referred  to  her ;  her  wishes,  her  tastes  were  con- 
tinually consulted. 

"My  dear  Lavinia,"  said  Lady  Eolfe,  with  upraised 
hands,  "it  is  something  incredible — he  treats  her  just  as 
though  she  were  mistress  of  this  house.  It  is  quite  enough 
to  turn  any  girl's  brain." 

Though  he  spent  his  whole  time  with  her,  Sir  Owen  did 
not  forget  her  parents.    Francis  Have  declared  that  !,• 
"in  clover;"  his  wife*  had  never  been  so  happy;  thev 

•  I   upon  and   attended  to  before  every  one  else; — they 
had  every  luxury,  every  attention. 

The  guests  arrived  early.  Everything  was  a  success,  but 
the  crowning  satisfaction  of  all  was  that  the  weather  was 
so  fine.     Violet  found  time  to  read  her  lover's  ?-<>te  ;  ' 
how  disappointed  he  was  that  he  could  not 
wood,  but  to  attend  the  /<•/•  even  for  one  hour  was  an  iin- 
lility  for  him.     His  father  had  had  a  very  serious  re- 
lapse, and  he  could  not  leave   the   olliee.     She   was  sorry; 
yet  she  could  not  understand  how  it  was  she  experiene.  d  a 
certain  feeling  of  relief — her  present  triumph  wa- 
and  she  enjoyed  it  so  thoroughly.     It  must  all  have  ended 
when  Felix  came.     It  was  like  a  play  now;  she  was  play- 
ing the  part  of  mistress  of  a  magnificent  mansion — of  queen 
of   that  brilliant  fete.     She  must  have  given  up  this  role  if 
Felix  had  come.     She  must  have  spent  the  time  with   him. 

"  I  shall  never  in  my  life  have  such  a  triumph  again," 
she  said  to  herself — "  never  again.  I  may  as  well  enjoy 
this  while  it  lasts." 

She  looked  superbly  beautiful  in  the  dress  that  had  been 
sent  to  her  for  the  fete  •  and,  as  she  walked  through  the 
grounds  with  Sir  Owen  by  her  side,  she  was  the  pbs 
of  all  observers.  She  felt  her  triumph  keenly — it  was  no 
small  one — yet  she  had  an  uneasy  sensation,  too,  that  it 
was,  after  aU,  a  false  position.  She  was  the  promised  wife 


82  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

of  another  man — she  had  no  right  to  be  queen  there,  with 
Sir  Owen  by  her  side. 

It  was  a  brilliant  fete — she  had  seen  nothing  like  it  in 
her  life.  The  fete  at  the  vicarage,  which  had  always 
seemed  to  her  the  very  acme  of  aristocratic  gayety, 
dwindled  into  insignificance.  The  sun  had  seldom  shone  on 
a  more  brilliant  scene ;  flags  and  banners  waved  from  the 
tall  trees ;  there  were  numerous  evergreen  arches,  mar- 
quees, and  an  infinity  of  amusements.  The  music  from  the 
bands  echoed  through  the  park. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful, "  said  Violet,  as  she  stood  with  Sir 
Owen,  watching  the  various  groups. 

"If  you  are  pleased,  I  am  well  repaid,"  he  said.  "Do 
you  not  know  that  I  would  give  all  I  have  to  please  you  ?  I 
would  do  all  this  over  and  over  again  to  win  one  smile 
from  you." 

Suddenly,  standing  there,  she  remembered  her  promise 
to  Felix  that  she  would  tell  Sir  Owen  she  was  to  be  his 
wife.  How  was  she  to  do  it  ?  She  could  not  turn  round  to 
him  abruptly  and  say,  "  I  am  going  to  marry  Felix  Lons- 
dale."  She  was  tempted  to  do  so,  but  it  would  be  too 
brusque.  "  I  shall  find  an  opportunity  during  the  evening," 
she  thought — u  I  can  easily  make  one,  but  not  at  present.  I 
will  enjoy  myself  now. " 

Then  Sir  Owen  conducted  her  through  the  grounds.  It 
was  a  veritable  triumph.  Her  exquisite  beauty,  her  superb 
dress,  her  radiant  face,  the  evident  admiration  of  this 
wealthy  baronet  by  her  side,  were  the  sole  themes  of  con- 
versation. People  bowed  to  her  who  had  never  seemed  to 
be  aware  that  she  existed  before ;  ladies  pleaded  for  an  in- 
troduction who  had  passed  her  with  haughty  insolence ; 
men  crowded  round  her,  and  none  seemed  content  until  he 
had  won  one  smile  from  the  sweet  lips,  one  glance  from  the 
lovely  eyes. 

They  passed  on,  Sir  Owen  talking  eagerly  to  her ;  but  she 
hardly  heard  what  he  was  saying,  she  was  so  engrossed  in 
the  brilliant  scene.  He  led  her  past  the  front  of  the  Hall, 
and  through  the  superb  gardens.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
they  passed  acre  after  acre  of  glass-houses,  then  they  came 
to  a  little  hill.  At  its  foot  was  the  river-bank,  and  its 
summit  was  crowned  with  a  group  of  silver  larches.  A 
seat  had  been  placed  under  them,  for  from  the  summit  of 
that  hill  there  was  to  be  seen  one  of  the  loveliest  pictures 
in  England. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  Violet,  as  they  left  the 
Hall  and  the  grounds. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  83 

"  I  want  to  show  you  Larch  Hill, "  he  replied. 

She  did  not  quite  like  being  there  alone  with  him.  Felix 
would  not  like  it,  yet  how  could  she  resist '. 

cry  one  who  comes  to  Garswood  sees  Larch  Hill,"  he 
i mied.     "It  is  really  the  prettiest  spot  about  here." 

"But  your  quests  will  miss  you."  she  said. 

••  1  am  with  the  queen  of  the  fete,"  he  returned,  with  a 
}ow  bow,  and  she  saw  that  he  did  not  care  in  the  lea^t 
whether  he  was  missed  or  not.  He  led  her  to  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  to  the  rustic  seat  under  the  larch.es. 

"I  was  thinking  all  last  night,"  he  said,  "  that  I  would 
bring  you  here  to-day.  I  want  you  to  look  well  around 
you.  See  how  the  sun  shines  on  Garswood  !  Look  at  the 
Hall  first," 

It  was  a  magnificent  panorama  that  was  spread  out  be- 
fore her.     Not  the  least   important   feature   in   it   was  the 
grand  old  Hall,  with  its  towers  and  turrets.     He  stood  by 
ide. 

••  From  here  as  far  away  as  your  eye  can  reach,"  he  said, 
''is  mine.   North,  south,  east,  and  west — it  is  all  mine.   You 
see  the  river  like  a  broad  silver  line  in   the  distance — the 
and  the  barges  011  it  are  mine.     You  see  the  vil 

iinong  the  trees,  the  rich,  well-cared -for  farms, 
the  quiet,  pretty  homesteads — they  are  mine — all  mine." 

"It  is  a.  nohle  property,"  she  said. 

here  is  not  a  larger  or  better  estate  in  England, 
and  tin-  brainy  of  it  is  that  it  lies  all  together.  You  see  the 
dark  mass  of  woods  over  there  to  the.  left ;  the  tree-;  in 
them  a  i:  -nt  fortune  in  themselves,  and  they  arc 

all    mine.      You    see    that    broad    stretch    of    meadou-land 
where  1 1;  _raze — it  is  all  mine!" 

made  no  reply ;    his  words  and  his  looks  confused 
her. 

"  1  am  lord  of  the  soil,"  he  said,  "for  many  miles  round. 
I  know  no  other  place  so  line  as  Garswood.  Violet  Have 
all  this  is  mine:  and,  if  you  will  speak  only  one  word,  it 
shall  all  he  yours." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  startled  glance. 

u  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  declared.     "How  could 

it  be    mi 

"It  can  all  be  yours  if  you  will  marry  me,  Violet,"  he 

whi 

Her  he;r,itiful  face  grew  pale  as  death. 

"  I  cannot  marry  \  replied,  quickly. 

"Why  not.   \  Tell  me  why." 

"Because  I  am  engaged  to  marry  Felix  Lonsdale." 


84  WEARER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"Is  that  all?  What  on  earth  does  that  matter?  He 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself  to  presume  to  ask  such  a 
girl  as  you  to  marry  him ;  he  must  be  mad  to  think  you 
would." 

u  He  loves  me  !"  she  said,  quietly. 

"  So  do  I — so  do  many  others.  You  must  not  marry  him, 
Violet ;  he  has  no  money,  no  influence,  no  position  ;  his 
father  is  under  a  cloud  which  must  darken  the  son's  fu- 
ture. You  cannot  marry  him — it  would  be  madness  !" 

"I  am  engaged  to  him,"  she  replied. 

"As  if  that  mattered.  Engagements  like  yours  are 
broken  every  day ;  it  is  the  commonest  thing  in  the  world 
— no  one  thinks  anything  of  it." 

She  seemed  to  see  her  lover's  face  as  he  had  looked  into 
hers  that  night  by  the  dew-laden  lilac  bushes — she  almost 
heard  his  voice.  She  looked  up  at  Sir  Owen,  her  face 
deathly  pale. 

"Do  you  know,  Sir  Owen,"  she  said,  "that  if  I  were 
false  to  Felix  Lonsdale  it  would  break  his  heart?" 

Sir  Owen  laughed  aloud. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Haye,  lawyers  have  no  heart — what  could 
they  do  with  such  a  commodity  ?  He  might  lose  his  temper ; 
but  men  never  break  their  hearts — a  good  cigar  will  cure 
the  most  desperate  love-affair.  You  amuse  me. " 

"  I  hope  you  are  speaking  falsely, "  she  said.  "  I  hope 
men  are  better  than  you  paint  them." 

"They  are  all  very  much  alike,  my  dear  Violet,"  he  re- 
turned. "  It  is  most  refreshing  to  hear  that  you  think  any 
man  capable  of  breaking  his  heart." 

"  Ah,  but  you  do  not  know  Felix  Lonsdale.  You  do  not 
know  how  he  loves  me. " 

" I  never  wish  to  know  Felix  Lonsdale,"  he  told  her.  "I 
have  no  partiality  for  men  under  a  cloud.  I  know  how 
much  I  love  you,  and  that  is  more  to  the  point. " 

She  shrank  from  him  with  a  pale,  scared  face.  She  did 
not  like  this  discussion  of  her  lover. 

"Let  me  tell  you,"  he  continued,  "how  much  I  love  you. 
I  think  you  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen  in 
my  life.  Your  beauty  gladdens  my  heart.  To  win  it,  and 
keep  it  always  near  me,  I  would  give  all  that  I  have  in 
this  world.  I  love  you  well  enough  to  lay  all  my  wealth 
at  your  feet,  to  worship  you  all  my  life.  I  love  you  so  well 
that  neither  your  plighted  word,  the  opinion  of  the  world, 
nor  any  human  power,  shall  come  between  us.  I  would 
break  every  tie,  every  bond,  crush  every  love,  to  win  you 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  85 

and  make  you  mine.     I  will  throw  everything  to  the  winds 
if  you  will  only  say  the  word." 

The  pale,  beautiful  girl  shrank  from  him. 

"  I  cannot, "  she  said — "  you  know  that  I  cannot — I  must 
marry  Felix  Lonsdale." 

"I  could  kill  him  !"  muttered  Sir  Owen,  under  his  breath, 
with  an  oath.  Aloud  he  said,  "You  shall  never  marry 
him." 

She  shrank  still  farther  from  him,  and  cried  aloud,  and 
then  he  was  full  of  remorse — he  tried  his  best  to  comfort 
her. 

"Listen  to  me,  Violet,"  he  said,  and  once  more  she  raised 
her  beautiful  face  to  his.  "Forgive  me — I  am  more  ac- 
customed to  shouting  at  men  than  to  pleading  with  ladies. 
Do  not  tli ink  I  am  so  cruel — why  should  I  kill  him  >  Do 
not  tremble  so — I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

She  tried  to  conquer  the  fear  that  had  mastered  her; 
she  stilled  the  trembling  of  her  hands,  the  wild  beating  of 
her  heart,  lie  spoke  more  gently  to  her. 

"  1  am  more  than  half  a  savage,"  ho  said.  "I  am  ashamed 
of  myself.  How  different  I  should  be  if  I  had  a  gentle, 
beautiful  girl  like  you  near  me  !  I  should  grow  civili/ed. 
Violet,  listen  to  me.  You  shall  not  give  me  your  an- 
swer no\v — riot  yet  for  many  days  ;  but  I  do  pray  yon  to 
be  my  wife.  Do  not  look  at  me  and  say  you  ca 
can  if  you  will.  Such  promises  as  yours  are  broken  every 
day.  I  will  not  let  you  give  me  an  answer  until  you 
thought  the  matter  well  over.  Look  round  you 
once  more,  Violet — look  at  this  stately  home,  tin's  broad 
domain — think  of  yourself  as  its  mistress- mi 

u-swood     Hall     and     forty     thousand     a     year.       As 
Lady   ( 'iievenix— how   well    the    name    sounds  !- as     Lady 
•nix,  I  say,  you  would  lie  quern  of    the  whole  county, 
you  would  be  one  of  the  most  popular  and    wealth;,-  women 
in  England.     You  will  have  the  world  at  your  feet.      I    will 
she  most  magnificent  diamonds — indeed,  every- 
thing that  women  like  best.     You  shall   be   surrounded   by 
luxury  that  the  world  can  give,  if   you  will  oni 

UI   cannot,"  she   murmured,  but   hor  voice 

Miller  this  time,  and  he  noticed  the  change. 
"I  will  not  accept  your  answer  yet,"  he  returned.     "But 

now  look  at  the  other  side  of    the  picture.      You  marry  ibis 
man  who  is  under  a  cloud,  he  takes    you  to  some   \vn  ; 
little  home,  he  works    day  and   night,  yet    can    hard!;. 

money  enough  for  bis  expenses ;  you  spend   the  prime  of 


86  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

your  life,  and  lose  the  glory  of  your  beauty,  in  a  helpless 
struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet ;  and  you  die  before  your 
time,  your  beauty  faded  and  gone,  worn  out — even  in  the 
prime  of  life.  I  say  that  it  is  a  crying  shame  for  such  a 
marriage  to  take  place.  You  see  the  difference,  Violet?" 

"  Yes,  I  see  it,  Sir  Owen :  but — " 

"Then,  "he   interrupted,  "we  will   not  talk  about  it  to- 

you  shall  think  it  well  over — you  will  be  of  my  opin- 

>'  in.     NOAV  we  will  go  back  again — and   you  will  not 

forget  the  view  from  Larch  Hill  ?    The  first  moment  I  saw 

y<m,  I  meant  to  win  you,  Violet.     I  swore  to  myself  thao 

you  should  be  mine.   You  have  promised  me  the  first  dance 

to-night,  reifiember. " 

He  talked  to  her  on  indifferent  matters  as  they  descended 
the  hill ;  then  he  said  : 

"Violet — you  see  that  I  cannot  call  you  'Miss  Have' — try 
to  drive  that  scared  look  from  your  face ;  my  guests  will 
think  I  have  been  frightening  you. " 

She  made  a  great  effort  to  bring  back  the  smiles  and 
brightness  to  her  face,  but  she  did  not  succeed  very  well ; 
the  world  was  all  changed  for  her  since  she  had  gone  up 
Larch  Hill,  quite  changed.  There  she  had  been  calm, 
content,  with  just  a  shadow  of  longing  for  the  grandeur 
around, "yet  happy  in  her  lover  and  her  love.  Now  she  had 
been  through  a  scathing  temptation — one  that  had  left  her 
heart  burning  and  her  brain  whirling ;  there  could  never 
be  calm  content  for  her  again.  As  her  eyes  wandered 
over  the  various  beauties  of  nature  and  art  surrounding 
her,  she  thought  to  herself  : 

"  All  this  might  be  mine — I  might  be  Lady  Chavenix  and 
^ive  grand  entertainments  here — I  might  be  mistress  of 
all." 

Sir  Owen  said  no  more  to  her,  but  he  redoubled  his  at- 
tentions, and  people  began  to  make  pretty  free  comments 
about  the  matter. 

"Felix  Lonsdale  will  lose  his /ajjcee  if  he  does  not  mind," 
remarked  Captain  Hill,  "  and  I  shall  be  sorry  for  it. " 

"I  believe,  Lavinia,"  said  Lady  Rolfe,  with  an  air  of  dis- 
may, "  Sir  Owen  is  so  infatuated  that  he  will  marry  the  girl 
after  all — he  will,  indeed. " 

Francis  Haye  and  his  wife  looked  on  in  seemingly  calm 
unconcern. 

Violet  found  herself  the  center  of  attraction  to  all  the 
men ;  one  wanted  her  as  a  partner  at  croquet,  another 
wanted  her  for  lawn-tennis,  a  third  craved  permission  to 
row  her  across  the  lake. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  87 

"I  should  like  that  best,"  she   said,  with  a  smile  so  sud- 
den and  so  beautiful  that  the  happy  recipient  of   it  lost  his 
nee  of  mind  at  once. 

Violet  wished  to  be  .alone  ;  she  wanted  time  to  think,  to 
still  the  thrilling;  of  her  nerves  ;  but  she  was  mistaken  in 
imagining  that  she  would  find  solitude  in  a  boat  with  a 
solitary  companion.  However,  no  man  was  ever  more 
completely  deceived — Violet  sat  listening  to  him  with  a 
flush  on  her  face  and  a  smile  on  her  lips.  He  thought  that 
he  was  making  a  great  impression  on  her,  whereas  she 
was  congratulating  herself  that  she  was  not  compelled  to 
hear  or  to  answer  his  compliments. 

tried  to  think  but  she  could  not ;  the  only  thing  she 
could  remember  was  that  she  might  be  Lady  Chevenix  and 
mistress  of  all  she  saw,  if  she  liked.  What  would  people 
say?  They  had  spoken  of  Sir  Owen  almost  as  though  he 
an  inhabitant  of  a  brighter  sphere.  She  had  heard 
liis  probable  marriage  discussed  almost  as  an  arrangement 
of  State  ;  no  one  under  the  rank  ol  Lady  Rolfe's  daughter 
had  ever  been  thought  of  for  him — and  now  he  had  asked 
her.  She  had  heard  the  future  of  his  wife,  when  he  should 
one.  discussed  many  times — how  she  would  ^,,  to 
court,  and  be  one  of  the  high  ones  of  the  earth,  bee;  use  of 
her  husband's  great  wealth  ;  and  no\v  this  honor  had  fallen 
on  her.  How  wonderful  it  seemed  '.  Of  course  she  must 
not  talk  about  it;  but  before  she  iinally  refused  hi.ii  she 
would  like  certain  people  to  know  what  a  brilliant  offer 

bad  1 n  made  to  hpr — people  who  had  n  >t  always  treated 

her  as  their  eqtial. 

The  boat  was  touching  the  shore,  ai,d  a  dozen  hands 

ied  out  to  assisi  her.  It  seemed  to  her  only  a  few 
moments  since  they  had  started,  yet  they  ..id  been  all 
around  the  lake.  She  looked  up  with  a  bewildered  smile 
at  her  companion  as  he  spoke  a  few  polite  words;  he 
seeim-d  to  know  by  instinct  then  that  this  girl  had  chosen 
the  boat  as  a  kind'  of  refuge.  Then  Sir  Owen  came 
claimed  her — she  must  have  some  refreshment— and  1 
mained  by  her  side  until  the  round  red  sun  set  and  the 
ft'ft-  was  over.  She  watched  it  sink  behind  Laivn  Hill,  and 
she  felt  that  she  would  never  see  its  crimson  li.irht  airain  in 
the  sky  without  remembering  what  bad  been  said  th 

There  was  an  hour  for  re>t  before  the  dressing  for  the 
ball  bewail. 

"If  you  are  wise,"  said  Lavinia  Rolfe,  "you  will  try  tx> 
sleep  tor  an  hour,  and  then  have  some  tea — that  will  re- 
store you  after  the  fatigue  of  the  day." 


88  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Violet  followed  her  advice ;  she  lay  down  to  rest ;  but 
how  could  she  sleep  ?  Through  her  heart  swept  unceas- 
ingly the  same  refrain — "  I  could  be  Lady  Chevenix,  mis- 
tress of  all  around,  if  I  choose ;  but  I  hold  my  lover's  life 
in  my  hands." 

Would  it  be  a  great  sin,  a  grievous  wrong,  to  break  such 
a  promise  ?  Then  she  reproached  herself  for  even  enter- 
taining the  thought.  Of  course,  she  would  keep  her  prom- 
ise to  Felix  ;  but  in  the  meantime  there  could  be  no  harm 
thinking  of  what  had  happened  and  how  wonderful  it  all 
was. 

She  looked  exquisitely  lovely  when  she  was  dressed  for 
the  ball.  Admiring  eyes  followed  her  every  movement. 
It  was  agreed  that  the  beautiful  girl  in  white  and  silver, 
with  a  crown  of  silver  leaves,  was  certainly  the  belle  par 
excellence.  To  Violet  the  ball  always  remained  more  of  a 
dream  than  a  reality.  She  remembered  her  wonder  at  her 
own  loveliness,  the  homage  paid  to  her,  the  half  subdued 
murmur  of  wonder  when  Sir  Owen  opened  the  ball  with 
her,  and  then  the  significant  glances  that  said  plainly, 
"We  can  all  see  what  this  means."  She  longed  to  say, 
"There  is  nothing  in  it— I  am  going  to  marry  Felix  Lons- 
dale.  I  am  only  queen  of  the  fete,  and  my  reign  ends  with 
it. "  But  she  could  not,  so  she  played  her  part  gracefully ;  it 
was  all  to  end  so  soon,  and  then  it  would  speedily  be  for- 
gotten. She  might  just  as  well  enjoy  herself  while  ?he  was 
there. 

She  was  so  brilliant,  so  gay,  so  enchanting,  that  Sir  Owen 
grew  every  moment  more  hopelessly  in  love  with  her.  Peo- 
ple could  think  what  they  liked  about  Violet,  but  thpire  was 
no  mistake  as  to  him — not  the  least  in  the  world  ;  he  was 
quite  lost;  he  saw  and  thought  of  nothing  but  Violet. 
Every  one  agreed  that  the  ball  was  worthy  of  the  frfe.  To 
Violet  it  was  a  long  dream  of  homage— the  most  eligible 
men  in  the  room  surrounded  her— -she  was  besieged  by 
would-be  partners. 

Sir  Owen  took  Violet  down  to  supper — the  grand  supper 
served  by  Gunter,  which  was  in  itself  a  wonder  :  and  then 
they  danced  until  the  sun  rose  in  the  eastern  sky.  Sir 
Owen  'went  to  Mr.  Have. 

"  I  will  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  driving  you  home  this 
afternoon,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  not  spend  another  night 
here.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  before  you  go." 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  89 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

STIU,  TRUE. 

"If  I  had  been  Mephistopheles  himself  I  could  not  have 
managed  better,"  thought   Sir  Owen,  as  he  watched  the 
three  visitors  who  were -of  such  vital  consequence  to  him. 
"Seeing  I  have  had  just  what  I  wanted  all  my  life,  it  is  not 
likely  I  sball  begin  to  go  without  it  now.     After  all,  what 
is  a  promise  of  marriage?     What  does  it   mean?     People 
break  them  every  day,  and  every  day  they  are  broken  for 
them — loss  of  fortune,  loss  of  health,  a  hundred  common- 
place reas<jns — loss  of  fancy — all  make  a  promise  of  mar- 
riage null  and  void.     Such  a  man  as  this  Lonsdale  had  no 
right  to  ask  a  girl  like  Violet  Haye  to  sacrifice  herself  to 
him.     It  is  the  privilege  of  a  rich  man  to  win  for  himself 
such  beauty  as  hers.     So  far  from  doing  a  bad  action,  I  am 
a  PHH!  «>ne  in  rescuing  this  beautiful  girl  from  pov- 
erty and  obscurity,     what  is  a  broken  promise  f    She  has 
-;he   will   marry  him — she   finds  that  she  has  made   a 
:;e,  and  alters  her  mind.     If  any  one  sees  wrong  in 
that  I  do  not  know  what  wrong  is." 
These  reflections  were  caused  by  a  simple  remark  made 

ptain  Hill.     He  had  said  : 

"  Has  any  one  told  you,  Sir  Owen,  that  Violet  Haye   is 
-'•d  to  marry  Felix  Lonsdale?"    And  the  baronet's  an- 
swer had  been  a  muttered  curse. 

He  had  believed  himself  in  such  a  lofty  position  that  he 

could  do  as  he  liked  without  comment,  but  he  found  it  was 

SO.     The  girl  whom  lie  was  so   madly  pursuing,  whom 

id    sworn    to  win,  come  what  might,  was   cn^ap-d    to 

another  man,  and  people  would  make  their  own  comments 

about  the  matter.     So  he  reasoned  and  argued  with  himself 

— and  to  himself  his    i  aed   excellent— that   honor 

-imply  a  dead  letter-   it  did  not  exist  ;  it  was  a  virtue 

to   be   subordinated  to  convenience — a   promise    was  mere 

empty  words,  with  no  me.-ming,  and  lie  consoled  himself  by 

trying  to  believe  that  he  was  doing  p»od  rather  than  harm. 

That  Violet  would  ultimately  refuse  'him  he  did  not  for  one 

moment   believe.     No  woman,    he  argued,  could   be  proof 

against  such  temptations  as  he  offered. 

This  was  the  day  on  which  he  had  promised  to  take  Vio- 
let and  her  parents  back  to  the  Limes.     He  was  very  un- 


90  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

willing  to  let  them  go.  "  They  will  have  that  handsome 
young  lawyer  about  ths  place  again,  and  all  the  good  I 
have  done  will  be  undone  "  he  said. 

But  Mrs.  Have  was  even  more  worldly-wise  than  himself 
— she  declined  to  spend  another  evening  there.  He  had 
ordered  a  dainty  luncheon  to  be  prepared  for  them  in  a 
chai  ning  little  anteroom  known  as  the  Star  Room — it 
bore  tha*  name  because  it  was  one  blaze  of  light,  through 
the  nuir  ber  of  its  mirrors,  girandoles,  and  lusters.  When 
the  sun  came  through  the  eastern  window,  and  lighted  it, 
the  effecu  was  something  magnificent.  If  he  had  hoped  to 
dazzle  them  with  a  fresh  exhibition  of  his  wealth,  he  had 
most  certainly  chosen  the  right  way. 

i^hen  luncheon  was  laid  on  the  table,  elaborately  spread 
with  handsome  plate,  rare  wine,  costly  fruit — every  lux- 
ury that  could  gladden  the  heart  of  man.  When  Sir  Owen 
sat  down  with  them  Mr.  Haye  expressed  his  regret  at  leav- 
ing so  magnificent  and  hospitable  a  house.  His  host  looked 
up  with  a  slight  laugh — a  keen  observer  would  have  seen 
that  he  was  agitated. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  the  place, "  he  said.  "  I  have  been 
asking  your  daughter  to  remain  here. " 

A  warning  touch  from  his  wife  told  Francis  Haye  that 
he  was  to  remain  silent.  She  looked  at  and  addressed  Sir 
Owen. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you ;  how  could  Violet  remain 
here  Avithout  us  ?" 

"  As  my  wife,  Mrs.  Haye  ;  if  she  will  only  consent,  Gars- 
wood  and  its  master,  with  all  that  it  contains,  shall  be 
hers." 

Mrs.  Haye  rose  slowly,  and  drew  her  shawl  around  her 
shoulders. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Sir  Owen,"  she  said,  dryly,  "and  I 
am  sure  that  Violet  must  be  quite  flattered  by  your  gener- 
ous offer  ;  but — she  has  promised,  I  believe,  to  marry  Felix 
Lonsdale. " 

"That  promise  should  not  bind  her,"  he  cried,  eagerly; 
"  it  was  won  from  her  under  false  pretenses.  It  will  be  a 
crying  shame  if  you  allow  her  to  keep  it." 

"So  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Haye,  as  she  drew  on  her  gloves  ; 
"  but  I  am  quite  powerless  in  the  matter. "  Nor  would  she 
hear  another  word. 

She  hastened  their  departure,  and  Sir  Owen  left  his  other 
guests  to  drive  them  home. 

In  this  case,  as  in  others,  Mrs.  Haye  showed  herself  to  be 
a  woman  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence.  An  average 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  91 

woman  would  instantly  have  taken  Sir  Owen's  part — 
would  have  done  her  utmost  to  induce  her  daughter  to 
break  her  promise — would  have  railed  against  Felix.  Mrs. 
Have  was  far  too  wise — to  take  that  course  would  be  to 
confirm  Violet  in  keeping  her  word.  She  understood 
women — she  knew  that,  if  she  opposed  her,  Violet  would 
take  refuge  in  making  herself  an  interesting  martyr; 
whereas,  if  she  and  her  husband  remained  passive,  and  al- 
lowed her  to  see  just  what  she  might  have  and  what  she 
might  lose,  Mrs.  Haye  had  no  doubt  of  the  result. 

Sir  Owen  remained  at  the  Limes  with  them  for  an  hour 
or  two,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Haye  who  reminded  him  that  his 
guests  were  waiting. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  my  guests,"  he  said — "  I  care  only  for 
you.  If  you  will  not  go  back  with  me  you  must  let  me 
stop  here,"  and  she  had  great  difficulty  in  persuading  him 
to  go. 

Not  one  word  about  Sir  Owen  was  said  to  Violet  after  his 
departure. 

"Leave  it  all  to  me,  Francis,"  said  Mrs.  Haye  to  her  hus- 
band ;  "if  you  interfere  you  will  mar  all.  Leave  it  to  me, 
and  do  not  utter  a  single  word." 

He  obeyed,  well  pleased  to  have  no  responsibility  in  the 
7n.it ter — he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  a  broken  promise. 

Violet  had  expected  expostulation,  reproaches,  persua- 
sion. She  could  hardly  rea.li/e  the  silence-  then  she  CMIIIC 
to  the  conclusion  that  her  parents  must  have  thought  Sir 
Owen  was  joking,  and  her  dignity  was  somewhat  wounded 
at  the  notion. 

Later  on  in  the  evening  Felix  came,  and  she  saw  that  he 
looked  anxious,  worn,  and  haggard.  Mrs.  Have  had  never 
received  him  more  kindly.  Mr.  Have  was  tired,  and  had 
gone  1o  his  own  room.  Mrs.  Have  made  Felix  sit  down 
with  them,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  about  his  father,  his 
family,  the  business,  and  its  prospects. 

The  Simple,  noble-hearted  young  fellow  opened  his  whole 
heart  1o  her  ;  he  told  her  all  his  sorrow  and  distress  about 
his  father— how  he  had  been  out,  and  had  met  sonic  one 
wiio  had  spoken  to  him  harshly  in  respect  of  the  will  case, 
and  the  cnnseqiif  nee  had  been  a  severe  relapse. 

"The  fact  is,"  sa.id  Felix,  "that  my  father  is  In-caking  his 
honest  heart,  Mrs.  Have." 

"It  is  very  sad,"  she  returned— u  very  sad,  and  very  hope- 
less. " 

"  Yes— it  is  almost  hopeless,"  agreed  Felix;  "it  seems 
as  though  the  very  spring  of  bis  life  were  gone.  1  know 


92  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

what  would  be  the  only  thing  to  cure  him.  It  would  be  if 
all  his  fellow  townsmen — all  his  old  friends — met  together 
and  did  something  to  prove  that  they  had  confidence  in 
him  ;  something  of  that  kind,  proving  to  him  that  he  was 
respected  and  esteemed,  would  be  the  only  thing  to  cure 
him." 

"  And  that  will  never  happen,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Haye. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  but  it  is  the  only  thing  to  save  him. 
Dear  Mrs.  Haye,  you  are  very  good  to  listen  to  me — I  ought 
not  to  bring  my  troubles  here. " 

Mrs.  Haye  looked  kindly  at  him. 

"Of  course,''  she  said,  "if  he  gets  no  better,  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  whole  family  will  fall  upon  you,  Felix." 

"  Yes, "  he  replied,  "  it  will  fall  upon  me  ;  I  cannot  desert 
them — I  must  work  for  my  mother  and  the  little  ones. " 

"In  that  case,  my  poor  boy,"  she  asked,  "what  will  you 
do  with  a  wife  ?" 

He  knelt  down  by  Violet's  side,  and  took  her  hand  in 
his ;  he  kissed  it  with  j,  passion  that  could  not  be  told. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  a  wife  ?"  he  cried.  "  Ask  me 
rather  what  I  shall  do  without  one.  My  wife  will  be  my 
haven,  my  rest,  my  hope,  my  refuge — will  give  me  cour- 
age, and  hope,  and  fortitude  ;  she  will  give  strength  to  my 
mind,  my  heart,  my  brain ;  my  wife  will  be  the  whole 
world  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Mrs.  Haye,  gently,  "but,  Felix,  how  are 
you  to  keep  her?  How  is  she  to  live?  You  could  not  take 
a  wife  home  to  Arale  House,  to  an  invalid  father,  a  step- 
mother, and  all  those  children." 

''No;  I  should  make  a  home  of  my  own, "  he  replied. 
"  Ah,  you  do  not  know  how  I  love  Violet — how  I  should 
work — how  I  should  toil  day  and  night  for  her  !  I  would 
keep  both  homes."  Then  he  looked  up  into  Violet's  face. 
"  You  would  help  me,  my  darling,  would  you  not  ?  You 
would  dispense  with  luxuries  for  a  time — only  for  a  time  ? 
You  would  be  the  nerve  of  my  arm,  the  strength  of  my 
soul.  You  love  me  enough  to  help  me  over  a  few  trouble- 
some years,  and  then  fortune  will  smile  on  me.  You  love 
me  enough  for  that,  sweetheart  ?" 

"Yes,  I  love  you,"  she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Haye  rose  from  her  seat  and  said  she  must  go  to 
her  husband.  She  left  Felix  kneeling  at  her  daughter's 
feet ;  when  she  was  gone  he  buried  his  face  in  the  silken 
folds  of  Violet's  dress  ;  he  kissed  them,  he  kissed  her  hands, 
he  called  her  by  every  endearing  name. 

"It  has  seemed  to  me  like  an  eternity,"  he  said.     "Oh, 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  93% 

Violet,  sweet,  you  must  never  go  away  from  me  for  three 
days  again.  Every  hour  has  seemed  a  year  long.  Let  me 
look  into  your  eyes,  and  see  if  you  love  me  as  you  did  when 
you  went1" 

"Yes,  just  as  much,"  she  said. 

"  And  the  luxury,  the  pleasure,  the  admiration,  has  not 
robbed  me  of  one  beat  of  your  heart  ?" 

"No,  not  one,"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  true  heart — oh,  dearest  love,  how  Heaven  has 
blessed  me  in  giving  you  to  me.  How  selfish  it  seems  of 
me  to  have  brought  my  troubles  here  to  you,  just  as  you 
have  come  from  such  a  bright  world. " 

"  I  have  a  right  to  bear  your  troubles, "  she  said  ;  but  her 
eyes  dropped  half  sadly  before  his.  She  said  to  herself, 
"  Dear  Heaven,  how  will  it  end  ?" 

"You  are  all  the  world  to  me  !"  he  cried,  passionately. 
"I  have  but  you,  Violet.  It  seems  to  me  all  a  blank  where 
you  are  not.  I  work  for  others,  and  I  love  them  ;  but  you, 
my  wife  that  is  to  be,  are  my  hope  and  my  refuge ;  you  are 
the  sun  of  my  life — without  you — " 

She  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  lips. 

"We  will  not  talk  of  that,"  she  said;  and  once  more, 
with  all  the  deep  passion  of  his  heart,  he  kissed  the  silken 
folds  of  her  dress — the  sweet  hands — the  tresses  of  golden 
hair. 

"My  love  is  a  garment  that  infolds  you,  sweet,"  ho  said. 
"The  ground  on  which  you  stand  is  sacred  to  me;  11m 
bree/e  that  kisses  your1  face  is  sacred,  too.  I  would  mako 
my  love  a  shield  and  a,  buckler  for  you.  Oh,  Violet,  it  is  al- 
most a  terrible  tiling  for  a  man  to  love  a  woman  as  I  love 
you.  Will  yon  tell  mo  now  about  the  /V-fe  ?  Did  not  every- 
one envy  me?  And  tell  me,  my  darling,  did  you  keep  me 
in  your  memory?" 

Then  came  to  her  the  memory  of  Larch  Hill  and  the 
li'Ty  temptation  she  had  battled  with  there;  but  she  an- 
swered him  : 

.  I  remembered  you  the  whole  time,"  and  he  clasped 
her  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ANOTHER      TEMPTATION. 


"A  dreary  future,"  said  Mrs.  Have,  "a  dreary  future.     I 
cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  for  Felix,  Violet." 

For  Mrs.  II aye  was  true  to  her  tactics.    She  never  named 


94  WEAKER  THAN  A    WOMAN. 

Sir  Owen  at  all — she  left  him  quite  out  of  the  question ; 
but  she  talked  incessantly  of  Felix,  and  always  in  the  most 
kind  and  pitying  manner.  She  deplored  his  fate  ;  she  de- 
clared it  was  the  saddest  she  had  ever  known.  To  think 
that  a  man  so  young  and  so  gifted  should  be  burdened  with 
the  maintenance  of  so  large  a  family.  She  feared  he  would 
not  have  the  strength  to  manage  it. 

They  were  arranging  a  wardrobe  one  day,  and  the  beau- 
tiful dresses  so  mysteriously  sent  for  the  fete  lay  within  it. 

u  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Haye,  solemnly,  "if  I  were  you,  I 
would  put  those  dresses  away  out  of  sight ;  you  will  never 
want  them  again  ;  you  will  never  have  an  opportunity  of 
wearing  them." 

"  Mamma,  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  live  in  a  cloister  ?" 
she  asked. 

u  No,  my  dear,  certainly  not ;  but  I  know  where  and  how 
you  are  going  to  live.  It  will  be  in  a  small  house  on  very 
limited  means." 

u  I  shall  go  out  at  times,"  said  Violet. 

"  Yes,  but  you  will  not  be  invited  to  such  places  as  Gars- 
wood — it  is  out  of  the  question  ;  poor  Felix  could  neither 
visit  nor  receive  such  people.  And  now  that  we  are  speak- 
ing of  it,  Violet,  I  think  it  would  be  just  as  well  if  you 
would  try  to  learn  a  little  of  domestic  work.  You  have 
been  foolishly  brought  up,  I  am  afraid. " 

"Why  should  I  learn  to  work,  mamma?"  she  asked, 
looking  at  her  hands,  so  white,  so  delicate.  "  I  am  sure 
Felix  will  never  like  to  see  me  working." 

"  He  will  not  be  able  to  help  it,  poor  fellow  !"  Mrs.  Haye 
said,  pityingly.  "  But  you  must  look  your  future  in  the 
face.  Violet ;  you  cannot  spend  all  your  life  in  Avaiting  for 
him — waiting  until  your  hair  grows  gray,  and  your  youth 
only  your  dream ;  and,  if  you  mariy  him,  it  must  be  to 
help  him." 

"  So  I  will  help  him,  mamma, "  she  replied. 

"That  is  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Haye,  serenely.  "lam 
glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  I  should  like  you  to  understand 
what  helping  in  this  case  means.  Felix  will  have  to  keep 
up  Vale  House  and  maintain  all  his  stepmother's  family. 
He  will  not,  of  course,  have  much  to  spare  for  himself : 
hence  he  will  want  all  the  care  and  economy  possible  in 
his  household.  You  should  learn  to  cook,  to  sew.  to  iron, 
to  manage  a  house,  for  you  will  not  be  able  to  keep  more 
than  one  servant,  if  you  manage  to  do  that." 

"  Mamma  1"   cried   Violet,  in   dismay,  and  she  raised  her 


WEAKER  THAX  A   WOMAN.  95 

pretty  white  hands  with  the  pink  tapering  fingers  depre- 
cating ly. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  Violet.  I  know  what  money  is,  and 
how  far  it  goes.  With  every  man's  hand  against  him 
Felix  will  have  a  hard  struggle,  and  the  only  way  in  which 
you  can  help  him  will  be  by  spending  as  little  money  as 
you  can." 

Then  wise  Mrs.  Have  left  the  words  to  work  their  effect. 

In  the  meantime  Sir  Owen  devoted  himself   unceasingly 
to  Violet.     Every  day  brought  some  lavish  gift  or  otl> 
the  Limes — great  hampers  of  game  and   fruit,  of   rare  for- 
eign wines,  of    flowers- ;md    Violet    said    nothing  of  them 
'ix,  because  she  saw  he  was  hurt   that  he   could 
not   do   the   same — and   during  that  period  the  girl's  mind 
iortured  and  harassed  by  doubts  and  f< 

It  was  such  a  chance  to  miss.  She  mi^ht  be  Lady  Cheve- 
nix  of  (Jarswood  ;  she  might  be  the  wealthiest  woman  in 
all  the  county;  and  yet  she  had  elected  to  be  nothii 
her  life  but  a  mere  dome-tie  drudge.  When  Sir  Owen 
came  over  and  insisted  upon  driving  her  out,  she  Mould 
say  to  herself  that  luxury  was  a  necessity  for  her,  that  she 
could  not  live  without  it,  that  she  must  have  it,  Then  Kve 
r  would  spend  a  day  with  her,  and  would  talk  to  her 
with  such  noble  simplicity,  such  simple  grandeur,  of  the 
life  '>!•!'•  .re  her,  that  she  fell  she  loved  Felix  more  than 
ever.  At  Vale  House,  however,  the  cloud  deepened,  and 
honest  Darcy  Lonsdale  wore  his  great  heart  away  in  sor- 
rowful repining. 

One  evening — how  well  Violet  remembered  it — it  was  the 
beginning  of  July,  ami  the  western  sky  was  crimson  with 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  Sir  Owen  rode  up  to  the  door.  He 
came  into  the  dinin-  room,  where  the  family  had  just  liar- 
taken  of  tea,  and  it  struck  all  of  them  that  lie  was  il!  at  ease. 
He  spoke  chiefly  to  Mrs.  Have,  and  looked  but  seldom  at 

Violet. 

"  I  went  to  London  yesterday,"  he  said,  "and  something 
tempted  me  into  a  jeweler's  shop.  1  bought  some  very 
line  diamonds,  a.nd  I  have  brought  them  for  you  to 

I  !••  look  some  heavy  morocco  cases  from  his  pocket,  and 
Violet  looked  up  with  a  new  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  low 
Mjjjht.  "Few  women,"  thought  Su-  Owen,  "can 
-ptation  of  diamonds." 

He  opened  the  cases,  and  laid  them  before  her.  There 
were  a  beautiful  diamond  MVierb  necklace,.  brooclL, 

ear-rums,  hracolet,  a,ud  rin^s,  all  with  stones  of  the  first 
water,  full  of  fin;,  clear,  brilliant,  and  beautiful.  Tho-criin- 


96  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

son  light  of  the  setting  sun  shone  in  them  and  made  them 
so  dazzlingly  bright  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  look 
at  them. 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?"  he  asked  Violet. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  did  not  know  there  was  anything 
in  the  world  so  beautiful,"  she1  cried. 

"  How  much  are  they  worth  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Have. 

"  I  have  paid  more  thousands  for  them  than  I  should  like 
to  tell  you,"  Sir  Owen  replied,  laughing;  "and  I  would 
pay  as  many  more  to  please  the  same  person  for  whom 
they  are  intended.  Miss  Haye,  will  you  try  them  on ',  I 
should  like  to  see  the  effect. " 

But  Violet's  hands  trembled  as  she  tried  to  raise  the 
glittering  gems  from  their  velvet  beds. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  said,  and  she  did  not  object. 

The  next  moment  he  was  standing  by  her  side.  He 
placed  the  brilliant  star  in  her  golden  hair,  and  she  felt 
that  he  lingered  far  longer  than  he  need  have  done  over  it. 

"  What  wonderful  hair  you  have  !"  he  said.  "  How  beau- 
tiful it  is  !  The  diamonds  are  not  good  enough  for  it. " 

Then  he  clasped  the  necklace  around  the  white  graceful 
neck ;  Violet  fastened  the  brooch  herself,  and  he  clasped 
the  bracelet  on  her  lovely  arm.  She  would  rather  that  he 
had  not  done  so — Felix  would  not  have  liked  it,  she  waa 
sure ;  but  then  the  temptation  to  see  herself  so  decked 
just  for  once  was  irresistible.  She  had  never  worn  a 
diamond — and  these  were  so  gorgeous. 

Very  soon  he  placed  her  before  the  great  gilt  mirror,  and 
the  crimson  sunlight  fell  upon  her,  on  the  sheen  of  her 
golden  hair,  on  the  brilliant  gems,  on  the  face  more  beauti- 
ful than  any  gem.  Such  a  marvelous  picture  as  she  made 
in  those  glittering  diamonds  Sir  Owen  told  himself  had 
never  been  seen.  Mr.  Haye  cried  out  in  admiration. 

"  She  is  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba, "  he  said. 

"  She  is  fairer  than  any  queen,"  laughed  Sir  Owen.  "  You 
ought  to  wear  diamonds.  Miss  Haye.  You  were  born  to 
wear  them.  Knowing  that,  and  feeling  sure  how  well  they 
would  become  you,  I  have  ventured  to  buy  these  for  you  ; 
wiL  you  honor  me  by  accepting  them  ?" 

But  Violet  drew  back  from  the  mirror  with  a  pale,  scared 
face,  and  a  movement  so  sudden  that  the  light  in  the  dia- 
monds was  like  gleams  of  fire  scattered  over  her. 

"  You  bought  them  for  me  ''."  she  said. 

"  Yes,  and  I  hope  you  will  honor  me  by  accepting  them," 
ho  replied,  with  a  low  bow. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  97 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said,  quietly ;  "  they  are  too  valuable.  I 
should  never  wear  them. " 

"  You  shall  wear  them  at  Court,"  he  told  her,  "and  no 
royal  duchess  has  finer." 

"  Felix  Lonsdale  would  not  be  willing,"  she  said,  calmly ; 
"  I  cannot  take  them. " 

An  angry  flush  burned  his  face,  a  lurid  light  leaped  into 
his  eyes,  but  a  sign  from  Mrs.  Haye  controlled  him. 

"  My  daughter  is  quite  right,  Sir  Owen.  She  cannot  take 
these  diamonds  from  you  while  she  is  the  promised  wife  of 
Felix  Lonsdale.  I  will  help  you,  Violet. " 

The  diamonds  were  taken  off  and  restored  to  their  cases. 
Mrs.  Haye  had  never  acted  more  wisely.  Violet  would  have 
resented  it  had  they  been  pressed  upon  her ;  woman-like, 
when  they  were  so  quietly  taken  back,  she  began  to  long 
for  them.  There  was  no  word  spoken  us  Sir  Owen  replaced 
the  cases  in  his  pocket  and  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

'* I  trust  I  have  not  offended  you,  Miss  Haye,"  he  said, 
"  by  offering  you  the  best  tribute  I  could  think  of  to  prove 
my  admiration." 

"  Why  should  I  be  offended,  Sir  Owen?  You  were  kind  to 
think  of  me,  but  I — yon  see,  I  cannot  take  them." 

"I  will  not  offend  a.Lrain,"  he  replied. 

He  shook  hands  with  Francis  Haye  and  his  wife ;  he 
parted  from  Violet  with  a  bow. 

"When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him  Francis  Have 
looked  at  his  daughter. 

"  You  have  refused  quite  twenty  thousand  pounds,"  he 
said. 

Mrs.  Haye  held  up  her  hand  with  a  warning  gesture. 

''She  has  done  quite  right,  Francis.     It   would  i 
for  the  wife  of  a  poor  struggling  lawyer  to  wear  twenty 
thousand  pounds'  worth  of  jewels — more  than  absurd.   Who 
would  make  puddings  and    mend   socks  clad  in  such   dia- 
monds a<   those?     Let  Violet  be  consistent.     She   prefers 
linsey  \\-oolsey    to  satin,  poverty  to  riches.     It  is  he; 
choice — we  must  not  interfere." 

Violet  kissed  hor  mother,  but  Mrs.  Haye  felt  with  keen 
deli-lit  that  there  was  little  rapture  in  the  kiss;  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  evening  the  fair  face  was  clouded. 

Another   thing   happened    which  annoyed   Violet.       She 
alking  one  day  through  Ordiield  lane,  when  she  met 
Lady  Eolfe  and  her  daughter   Lavinia.     With  great  cor- 
diality her  ladyship  stopped  to  talk  to  her. 

"  Will  you  mind  walking  on  with  me,  Miss  Haye  ?"  she 


98  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

said.   "  I  have  often  thought  that  I  should  like  to  chat  with 
you. " 

"  I  shall  be  very  pleased, "  answered  Violet,  little  dream- 
ing of  the  mortification  in  store  for  her. 

"I  wished  to  speak  to  you  when  we  were  at  Garswood," 
said  Lady  Rolfe,  ;  but  I  found  no  opportunity.  I  think  it 
only  my  duty,  M,  <ss  Haye,  to  utter  a  few  words  of  warning 
to  you  about  Sir  Owen." 

Violet  looked  up  proudly. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  there  is  the  least  need  for  such 
words,  Lady  Eolfe, "  she  replied. 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Sir  Owen  Chevenix 
is  a  wealthy  man.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  one  unjust  word 
against  him,  but  I  am  quite  correct  in  stating  that  he  does 
not  bear  one  of  the  best  of  reputations ;  he  drinks,  and — 
well,  he  has  other  faults  which  I  must  not  name  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  this  concerns  me,"  said  Violet. 

"  But  I  do,  Miss  Haye.  Pray  listen  to  me.  You  have  a 
pretty  face,  and  Sir  Owen  is  always  attracted  by  such. 
Yours  is  not  the  first  by  any  means  that  he  has  admired." 

"  I  never  supposed  that  it  was, "  said  the  girl,  proudly. 

"  That  is  right.  If  you  understand  the  character  of  the 
man  all  is  well,  but,  having  a  friendly  interest  in  you,  I 
was  afraid  that  his  flattery  might  mislead  you." 

"  If  she  only  knew  the  truth !"  thought  Violet.  "  If  she 
could  only  guess  that  I  have  refused  to  be  Lady  Chevenix  !" 

"  I  am  not  alone  in  my  ideas,"  continued  Lady  Rolfe.  "  I 
heard  many  ladies  at  Garswood  say  what  a  pity  it  was  that 
no  one  warned  you.  This  is  what  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Miss 
Haye — and,  believe  me,  real  kindness  dictates  the  words. 
You  are  engaged  to  marry  a  very  honorable  gentleman. 
Even  though  he  be  unfortunate,  do  not  lose  the  substance 
for  the  shadow ;  do  not  give  him  up  under  the  mistaken 
impression  that  Sir  Owen  will  marry  you.  The  difference 
in  your  rank  and  position  is  too  great.  He  is  simply  amus- 
ing himself  with  the  prettiest  face  near  him.  Be  wamed 
in  time — he  will  flirt  with  you,  but  he  will  never  dream  of 
marrying  you. " 

"That  is  your  ladyship's  opinion,"  said  Violet. 

"  And  the  opinion  of  every  one  else  who  knows  Sir  Owen 
and  who  knows  you,"  added  Lady  Rolfe.     "I  assure  you 
that  many  ladies  have  spoken  to  me  about  it,  and  have  ex 
pressed  a  great  hope  that  you  would  not  be  misled   by  Sir 
Owen's  flattery  and  love  of  flirtation." 

ulf  she  knew  all,"  thought  Violet — "if  she  did  hut. 
know  I"  And  her  beautiful  face  wore  such  a  witching  snii'v 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  99 

as  she  bade  Lady  Rolf  e  good-morning  that  the  keen,  worldly 
woman  felt  alarmed. 

•'She.  would  m'ver  look  like  that,  Lavinia,"  she  cried, 
"  unless  in  some  way  or  other  she  had  the  best  of  the  mat- 
ter. Surely  it  can  never  be  that  he  has  asked  her  to  marry 
him." 

••  My   dear  mother,  Sir   Owen  may  marry  just  whom  he 
The  only  fact  which  interests  me  is  that  he  lias 
not  asked  me  to  marry  him.     As    for   !\!iss  Have,  1  am  not 
interested  in  her,  and  do  not  care  to  talk  about  her.1' 

Miss  Rolt'e  dismissed  the  matter  very  quickly  from  her 
mind,  but  Lady  Rolfe  pondered  it  deeply.  Surely  she 
must  be  mistaken — the  best  match  in  the  county,  the  most 
eligible  man  for  many  miles  around,  could  never  be  so  ab 
surd  as  to  throw  himself  away  on  a  mere  nobody  like  Vio- 
let Have,  even  though'  she  had  the  face  of  an  angel  and  the 
grace  of  a  queen. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

VIOLET'S    DECISION. 

^o  the  decision  as  to  her  own  future  was  left  entirely  in 
Violet's  hands.  Neither  father  nor  mother  spoke  one  \\ord 
which  could  influence  her,  and  Felix  was  so  engrossed  in 
his  business  that  he  was  but  seldom  able  to  see  her.  Sir 
Owen,  on  the  contrary,  always  kept  himself  present  in  her 
mind.  Every  day  brought  hampers,  parcels  nf  books, 
everything  that  could  be  thought  of,  from  the  Hall.  Every 
day  brought  a  little  note  begging  that  she  would  accept 

Bowers,  fruit,  or  whatever  accompanied  it.  He  rode  over 
very  often  himself;  In- .seemed  to  bring  an  atmosphere  of 
the  fashionable  world  with  him;  he  was  always  lull  <4 
spirits,  with  wonderful  news  to  tell. 

Violet  had  been  very  much  annoyed  by  Lady  Rolfe's 
warning— it  had  turned  the  balance  the  wrong  way. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said  to  herself — •'they  think  I  am  s*» 
far  beneath  Sir  Owen  that  he  will  never  deign  to  marrr 
me.  How  mistaken  they  are,  and  how  little  they  know  «f 
the  real  truth!  How  I  could  surprise  them  if  I  wished  to 
do  so!  What:  a  triumph  and  a  victory  1  could  win  over 
them  all  !  How  they  would  wonder  t<>  see  me  l.ady  ( 'heve 
nix!  If  ever  I  do  become  Lady  ( 'hevenix,  that,  woman, 
Lady  Rolfe,  shall  come  no  more  to  (iarswood." 

That  wasthelirst  t  ime  she  had  ever  admitted  to  herself 
that  there  was  an  "if"  in  the  matter — the  first  time  she  had 


100  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

thought  of  the  possibility  that  she  might  eventually  be  Lady 
Chevenix.  The  temptation  was  great  and  subtle ;  it  was 
some  time  in  forcing  an  entrance  into  her  heart — but,  once 
admitted,  it  would  not  leave  her.  There  were  many  ex- 
cuses for  her — there  was  much  that  pleaded  for  her — her 
youth,  her  love  of  luxury,  her  dread  of  poverty,  her  long 
ing  for  the  bright  side  of  life.  The  constant  dropping  of 
water  wears  away  a  stone.  Such  was  Violet's  case.  The 
constant  talk  of  poverty  with  which  her  mother  plied  her 
morning,  noon,  and  night — the  constant  praise  of  Sir  Owen, 
the  blank,  cool  toleration  of  Felix — the  wonder  at  the 
riches  of  the  one,  the  pity  for  the  poverty  of  the  other,  all 
influenced  her,  until  at  length  a  day  came  when  her  heart 
opened  to  the  worship  of  Mammon,  when  love  dwindled 
into  insignificance  by  the  side  of  wealth.  The  day  came 
when,  wearied  of  everything,  she  went  out  into  the  cool 
green  depths  of  the  summer  woods  and  held  her  life,  as  it 
were,  in  her  hands. 

She  tried  to  think  of  her  case  as  though  it  were  that  of  a 
stranger — as  though  she  herself  had  no  vital  concern  in  it. 
On  the  one  side  she  had  to  suppose  that  she  would  prove 
true  to  her  promise,  true  to  her  word — that  she  would 
marry  the  man  whom  she  really  loved — Felix  Lonsdale. 
"Let  me  look  at  that  picture  quite  calmly  at  first,"  she  said 
to  herself.  She  would  have  to  wait  at  least  two  or  three 
years  longer,  and  by  then  the  brightness  of  her  beauty 
would  have  waned — the  spring  of  her  youth  would  have 
left  her.  They  would  be  years  of  sorry  discomfort,  too. 
Her  .mother  and  father  would  lose  ail  patience ;  they 
would  be  years  of  constant  unpleasantness;  Felix,  too, 
would  doubtless  be  always  in  trouble — and  she,  like  most 
of  the  young,  gay,  and  beautiful,  dreaded  trouble.  Taking 
the  marriage  at  its  best,  it  was  a  poor  one.  When  she  was 
first  engaged  to  Felix  Lonsdale,  things  were  quite  different. 
No  cloud  of  disgrace  hung  over  his  family  ;  he  bade  fair  to 
become  a  rich  man ;  he  had  every  hope  of  making  a  beauti 
ful  home  for  her.  Even  then  it  was  not  such  a  marriage 
as  she  with  her  queenly  dower  of  beauty  and  grace  had  a 
right  to  expect.  Were  she  to  marry  him  with  his  present 
prospects,  what  a  fate  would  lie  before  her  !  Such  limited 
means — such  genteel  poverty  !  She  shuddered  as  she  saw 
the  years  stretch  themselves  out  before  her.  She  foresaw 
hard  work — the  work  she  disliked  most  of  all,  domestic 
drudgery ;  hard  fare  ;  no  balls,  no  parties,  but  little  dress, 
nothing  but  the  care  of  a  house — a  bare  plain  existence 
from  which  she  shrunk — no  visiting.  How  people  would 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  101 

laugh  at  her.  It  would  be  like  going  out  of  the  world  at 
once.  But  then — and  her  heart  grew  warn,  at  the  thought 
— she  would  have  Felix — Felix,  who  loved  her  so  dearly— 
Felix  to  whom  the  ground  she-  trod  on  was  sacred.  She 
would  be  with  him,  and  she  would  have  the  happy  con- 
sciousness of  having  done  what  was  right ;  she  would  have 
done  her  duty,  and  she  might  be  happy  after  all. 

Then  came  the  other  side  of  the  picture — and  the  girl's 
brain  whirled  as  she  tried  to  understand  it,*tried  to  reali/e 
it.  If  she  married  Sir  Owen,  she  would  be  mistress  of 
magnificent  Garswood — she  would  be  mistress  of  all  its 
grandeur,  of  the  superb  grounds,  the  gorgeous  pictures,  the 
wonders  of  silver  and  gold;  they  would  be  hers  to  use 
when  she  liked  and  how  she  liked.  She  would  he  Lady 
Chevenix,  patroness  of  balls,  queen  of  the  county;  she 
would  be  able  to  patronize  Lady  Rolfe  in  her  turn,  to  pun 
ish  those  who  had  dared  to  think  she  required  warning; 
she  could  have  dresses  such  as  she  had  not  dreamed  of; 
she  would  be  great,  wealthy,  and  powerful.  But  there 
would  be  no  Felix  with  all  this ;  she  would  have  to  give 
him  up,  and  she  would  live  the  remainder  of  her  life  with 
e  of  having  acted  unfairly — of  having  betrayed  such 
UK!  faith  as  were  given  to  few  women. 

Those  were  the  two  pa,ths  that  lay  so  clearly  and  so  dis- 
tinctly mapped  out  before  her.  In  her  heart  she  loved 
Felix— and  she  knew  it ;  but  that  same  heart  longed  for 
wealth  and  luxuries  such  as  Felix  could  never  give  her— 
that,  same  heart  recoiled  from  the  p->verty,  the  struggles, 
the  hard  work,  the  economy,  the  daily  cares  that  must  at- 
tend her  as  the  wife  of  Felix  Lonsdale.  "She  disliked  aM 
such;  she  remembered  how,  even  when  thin;;-*  looked 
brightest,  she  had  stood  in  the  house  that  had  belonged  to 
the  Hendersons,  wondering  what  her  life  would  be  like 
there,  and  recalled  the  curious  sensation  that  had  come 
over  her  of  there  not  being  enough  there  to  fill  her  life. 
Then  she  laughed  a  little  bitter  laugh  as  she  flung  away  the 
wild  Mowers  that  she  wa,s  holding. 

"I  have  a,  desjre  to  he    rich,"  she    said,  'l  but  none    i 
noble.     [  am  not  noble.    1  see  the  right  and  honorable  path, 
but  I  have  not  the  strength  to  follow  it.     1  hate  m\selt    for 
bein.u;  what  1  am,  but  I  cannot' change/' 

She  made  no  false  excuses  to  herself:  she  gave  no  hlgh- 
fiWn  name  to  the  sin  she  was  about  to  commit.  Mammon 
tempted  her.  and  she  fell;  the  spirit  of  the  world,  the 
pride  of  life,  the  love  of  riches  had  all  entered  her  soul, 
and  taken  possession  of  it.  She  did  not  disguise  from 


102  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

herself  what  she  was  doing  when  she  deliberately  resolved 
to  break  her  plighted  word — to  give  up  her  lover  and 
marry  Sir  Owen. 

Her  temptations  had  been  many  and  great — they  had 
been  continual,  they  had  been  hard  to  resist ;  but  that  was 
no  excuse.  She  knew  that  she  was  committing  a  double 
sin  ;  she  was  proving  false  to  the  one  man  whom  she  really 
loved  to  marry  one  whom  she  did  not  love  at  all. 

"It  is  a  double  sin,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  but  I  cannot 
help  it — I  could  not  go  through  a  life  of  drudgery  and 
poverty.  Felix  will  hate  me,  but  in  after  years  he  will 
know  that  my  decision  was  wise." 

So  she  thought  and  mused,  dreaming  in  the  sweet  shade 
of  the  summer  woods  of  the  gorgeous  future  that  would  be 
hers  if  she  married  Sir  Owen.  Presently  her  mood  changed 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  passionate  tears  as  she  thought  of 
Felix. 

"  I  love  Felix  !"  she  cried.  "  Why  can  he  not  have  Gars- 
wood  ?  Why  must  he  be  poor  and  obscure  while  Owen 
Chevenix  revels  in  wealth ?  It  is  not  fair." 

She  had  love  and  wealth  both  before  her,  yet  she  had  de- 
liberately given  up  love  and  had  chosen  wealth.  She  made 
no  effort  to  justify  herself  in  her  own  eyes. 

"Those  diamonds  were  too  much  for  me,"  she  said.  "I 
cannot  help  it  if  I  am  not  noble  by  nature. " 

Yet,  when  she  had  left  the  woods,  and  walked  home 
through  the  meadows,  something  was  gone  from  the  sun- 
light, something  from  the  song  of  the  birds,  which  was 
never  to  be  there  again  for  her.  She  walked  as  one  over 
whom  a  shadow  lies.  She  had  joined  hands  with  sin — and 
sin  is  never  a  cheerful  companion.  The  flowers  and  the 
trees,  the  color  of  the  grass,  had  lost  their  charms  for  her 
— there  was  a  dark  shade  over  everything. 

"  Will  it  always  be  like  this  r  she  thought.  "  If  it  is,  I 
shall  not  find  my  future  very_  bright. " 

Then  the  girl's  heart  misgave  her.  As  she  looked  around 
everything  reminded  her  of  Felix.  She  had  walked  with 
him  down  those  groves,  she  had  lingered  with  him  by  that 
stile  and  under  those  trees  :  he  had  been  so  much  part  of 
her  life  that  she  could  not  picture  life  without  him. 

"  How  shall  I  live  without  him  ?"  she  said.  u  How  shall  I 
spend  the  days,  the  years  without  him  if'  Then  she  tried 
to  harden  her  heart.  "  People  cannot  live  on  love  and 
poetry,"  she  told  herself  ;  "  if  they  could  all  would  be  well." 

That  same  evening  she  said  to  Mrs.  Have  : 

"  Mamma,  I  have  been  thinking  it  will  oe  better  for  F^iix 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  103 

and  myself  to  part.     I  am  afraid  he  has  enough  on  his 
shoulders." 
••J   have  thought  so  for  some  time,  my  dear,"  was  the 

quiet    reply.     "Your   engagement  is   fully,  your   mar 
would  be  mad- 

Then   Violet  went  up   to  her  mother,  and  put  one  arm 
around  her  neek. 

nma."  she  said,  "you  will  save  me  all  trouble  :" 
?,"  replied  Mrs.  Have,  "you  may  safely  leave  it  all 
to  me." 

And  so  wealth  won  a  soul  not  noble  enough  to  live  for 
love. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   LETTER. 

A  cruel  day  dawned  for  Felix  Lonsdale — a  day  when  the 
Kim   shone  so  brightly  and  with  such  heat  that  grass,  dow- 
ers, and   leaves  withered  beneath  his  fervent  rays,  when   a 
golden   haze   seemed  to   lie   over  the  land,  and   the  brooks 
>\vly  over  the  pebbles  beneath  them — a  day  when  the 
wind    was   still,  and    not   the   faintest  whisper  of   a  bre.-/e 
stirred    the    leaves   or  blossoms — a  cruel  day.     He  remem- 
it  all  through  his  lite,  for  the  warm   sunlight  seemed 
suddenly    to    change    into    a    fire    that    burned  him.  every- 
thing bright  and  fair  appeared  to  wither  before  h 

day  which   brought  him  a  pain  that  never  quite  left 
him  while  life  lasted. 

He  was  in  his  oHice  in  the  High  street— the  office   that 

nee  borne  such  signs  of  prosperity — where  the   -n-.-it. 

iron    safes    had   been    tilled    with  deeds,  and    huge  bill  files 

had    1 n    loaded    with    documents— where    the  tables  had 

been    strewn    with    papers    and  letters  -where  bu-y  clerks 
had    passed  the  day.  all  too  short  for  the  work  they  had    t«> 
.hen-  people  were  always  going  and  coming  with  the 
air  of  having  important  b;  a  hand. 

It  was  all  so  different  now.     one  by  one  the  clerks  had 
re  was  nothing  to  do.     one  by  one  the   neighbor- 
mires  and  farmers  had  withdrawn  their  business  from 
the    old    ollice.      There    was    so    little    to  transact  now  that 
Felix  could  manage  with  one  clerk.    Still  he  had  hope.      He 
felt   sure  that    in    time    this  state  of    things  must  im: 
When  people  be -an  to  think  calmly  they  would    know  that 
his  father  was  innocent  of  that  which  had  been  imputed  to 
him. 


104  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Felix  was  seated  in  his  office.  It  was  too  warm  for  busi- 
ness— no  one  came  in.  There  were  no  messages,  no  inter- 
views— he  had  nothing  professional  to  do.  The  clerk  was 
busy  copying  a  deed,  and  Felix  was  making  the  most  of 
his  time  by  writing  an  essay  upon  the  "Inequalities  of 
British  Law. " 

Suddenly  the  postman's  knock  was  heard  in  the  quiet 
street,  where  on  that  scorching  day  even  the  very  houses 
seemed  to  sleep.  The  sound  did  not  interest  Felix  ;  he  ex- 
pected no  letter.  Violet  seldom  sent  him  a  little  note ; 
when  she  did  so  it  was  like  the  finest  cordial  to  him — he 
worked  the  better  for  it — he  was  happier  an  }  brighter. 
Perhaps,  if  she  had  known  how  happy  those  letters  made 
him,  she  would  have  written  oftener. 

Presently,  to  his  surprise,  came  the  sharp  sudden  knock 
of  the  postman  at  his  own  door.  The  clerk  quickly  dis- 
appeared, and  then  returned  and  placed  a  letter  in  his 
hands — a  lady's  letter,  with  a  faint  odor  of  violets.  He 
opened  it  and  looked  at  the  signature — u  Martha  Haye. " 

It  was  from  Violet's  mother.  What  could  she  have  to 
say  to  him  ?  It  was  an  invitation  probably.  He  put  aside 
his  essay,  and  began  to  read  the  note. 

"My  DEAR  FELIX  :— That  which  I  have  to  say  will  pain  you,  I  know; 
"but  I  connot  help  it— it  must  be  said.  The  engagement  between  you 
and  my  daughter  must  come  to  an  end.  rlhe  circumstances  under 
which  I  gave  my  consent  were  quite  different  from  those  existing  at 
present.  Your  prospects  have  quite  altered.  It'  you  marry  my  daughter 
now,  yon  cannot  keep  her  in  anything  like  the  position  in  which  she 
lives  even  at  present:  and  I  am  not  willing  to  see  her  become  a  mere 
domestic  drudge.  Mr  Haye  and  myself  wish  the  engagement  to  end  at 
once,  as  under  110  circumstances  could  we  consent  to  the  marriage. 
"Violet  sends  her  love,  and  deshvs  me  to  say  that  all  this  is  writt <  n  by 
her  wish,  and  that  she  hopes  always  to  be  your  friend.  She  is  going 
away  <>n  a  long  visit  to  one  of  her  relatives.  Hoping  you  will  see  the 
necessity  lor  this  step,  i  am  yours  very  sincerely, 

"MARTHA  HAYE." 

He  read  it  through,  at  first  with  the  feeling  and  convic- 
tion that  it  nmst  be  a  practical  joke,  then  with  a  deadly  as- 
surance that  they  were  going  to  take  Violet  from  him.  The 
handsome,  worn  face  grew  deadly  pale  ;  a  dazed,  dim  look 
came  into  his  eyes;  a  great,  tearless,  voiceless  sob  rose  to 
his  lips  ;  the  sunlight  seemed  to  change  to  a  blood-red  mist, 
and  a  sound 'like  the  roar  of  distant  waters  filled  his  ears. 
He  sat  with  the  letter  open  in  his  hand,  dazed  as  a  man 
who  had  received  a  terrible  blow. 

How  long  he  sat  he  never  knew  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
years  of  agony,  years  of  torture,  rolled  over  his  head.  He 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  105 

was  literally  stunned.  He  had  borne  all  his  sorrows  with 
a  brave,  strong  heart  because  he  had  a  true  hope,  a  beau- 
tiful, warm  love.  To  take  that  from  him  was  to  leave  him 
with  no  ground  to  stand  on. 

Slowly  thought  and  reason  came  back  to  him.  He  rose, 
still  with  the  open,  letter  in  his  hands,  with  a  white,  set  look 
on  his  handsome,  haggard  young  face  which  might  have 
touched  a  heart  of  stone.  He  took  his  hat  from  the  stand, 
and  the  dork  looked  after  him  with  <i  terrified  gaze,  won- 
dering what  could  have  happened  to  him. 

"There  was  bad  news  in  the  letter,"  he  said,  "but  where 
has  he  gone  with  it  open  in  his  hand  like  that ;'' 

More  than  one  person  whom  Felix  Lonsdale  met  asked 
themselves  the  same  thing,  more  than  one  spoke  to  him ; 
but  he  did  not  hear — he  walked  on,  looking  straight  before 
him,  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  his  white,  set  lace  without 
change  or  expression,  until  lie  reached  the  Limes.  What 
he  suffered  as  lie  pa«i-d  the  old  land-marks,  the  trees,  the 
stiles,  the  lilac  bushes  at  the  gate,  was  known  only  to 
Heaven. 

Hejtvent  straight  into  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Haye  herself 
Was  the  hV't  person  that  he  met. 

half   frightened   when   her   eyes   fell  upon  his 
face;    x    unlike  was   it   to   any  face   she    had  ever  so 
changec    by  his  great  woe.  she  could  hardly  recognize  it 
lell  out  her  hand  to  him  with  some  commonplace  words 

ie.    1  \<-  did  not  hear  them. 

me  in  here,'1  he  said,  and,  taking  her  arm,  he  led  her 
into  the  nearest  room.  "Tell  rne,"  he  asked,  "did  yon  write 
this  " 

re  was  nothing  to  he  said  but  the  truth,  yet  in  all  her 
.if  Mrs.  Haye  had  never  been  more  frightened,  she  had 
Ic  deal  with  a  desperate  man. 

3,  1  wrote  it,  Felix;   it  was  wisest,  kindest,  best." 

"And  you  say  that  Violet  is  willing— that  Violet  knows 
),bout  it ;"" 

"I  wrote  it  with  her  express  sanction,"  she  replied. 

"It  is  false  !     1  would  not  believe  you  if  you  swore  it!     I 
not  believe  it '.     Heaven  is  not  so  crud." 

"There  is  no  cruelty  in  it,  "said  Mrs.  Haye;  "it  is  what 

must  be  done." 

".Must  be  done  !  Do  you  know  that  she  is    mv  liT-    itself, 
that  1  have    no    life    apart    from  her,  no  hope  that   <\«- 
begin  and  end  with  her  1     If  you   take  her  from  me, 
a,  dead  body— slie  is  my  soul  itsrlf  :" 

He  paused,  for   the   passion  of   his  words  overcame  him 


106  WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN. 

How  was  he  to  tell  this  woman  what  Violet,  his  beautiful 
love,  was  to  him  ?    How  weak  and  impotent  words  were  ! 

"I  know  that  you  are  very  fond  of  her,"  Mrs.  Haye 
said,  gently  ;  "still  it  cannot  be — it  cannot,  indeed." 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  you  have  done  this  cruel  deed? 
What  is  your  motive  ?'' 

"Because  you  cannot  afford  to  marry;  yon  must  not 
burden  yourself  with  a  wife." 

"  Surely  I  know  best.  I  can  work — I  do  work.  I  would 
work  night  and  day,  with  one  hope  before  me  of  making 
my  darling  my  wife.  She  loves  me,  she  knows  what 
trouble  has  come  to  us,  she  is  willing  to  wait  a  few  months 
longer,  and  then  share  my  lot.  It  will  be  brighter  in  time 
everything  will  come  right  for  us  yet.  I  have  no  fear." 

"lam  not  willing,  her  father  i  net  willing — we  see  no 
use,  no  sense  in  the  best  and  brightest  years  of  her  life 
being  wasted  in  waiting  for  a  r>  Carriage  that,  when  it  comes, 
wil  be  the  worst  thing  that  could  happen  to  her.  We  are 
not  willing ;  and  I  tell  you  frankly  that  Violet  sees  mat- 
ters as  we  do.  She  wished  me  to  say  all  this." 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  to  me — what  you 
are  taking  from  me?  Do  you  understand,"  he  cried 
hoarsely,  "  that  you  are  killing  me  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry,  of  course — it  is  very  hard,  I  know — but  such 
a  life  as  you  oiler  Violet  would  kill  her." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it !"  he  cried.  "  You  changed  to  me  when 
my  fortune  changed.  You  were  willing  enough  to  give  me 
my  darling  when  you  thought  that  I  was  the  son  of  a  rich 
man.  I  shall  be  rich  again  in  time.  I  have  seen  the  change 
in  you  ;  you  have  given  me  cold  looks  for  kind  ones— you 
have  been  barely  civil  where  you  had  been  warmly  cordial. 
I  understand  it — you  love  Mammon.  Wealth,  rank,  luxury, 
are  more  to  you  than  the  heart  of  an  honest  man.  But  my 
darling  is  not  like  you,  and  I  will'  receive  the  statement 
you  have  made  from  no  lips  but  hers." 

"  My  daughter  is  not  at  home,  and  you  will  gain  nothing 
from  seeing  her." 

"  But  you  cannot  do  as  you  please ;  she  is  engaged  to  me 
— she  is  my  promised  wife — no  man  or  woman  living  has 
the  power  to  break  such  a  bond.  She  could  not  break  it 
herself." 

"You  will  find  you  are  mistaken  there,"  said  Mrs.  Haye. 
And  then  Felix  saw  plainly  that  it  was  useless  to  say  more 
to  her — there  was  something  of  animosity  in  her  tone.  He 
left  her,  still  holding  the  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"I  am  sorry  for  him, "  said  Mrs.  Haye.  when  describing 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WO.UAN.  107 

the  scene  to  her  husband  ;  "  but  what  can  be  done  ?    There 

is  one  thing  that  I  am  really  thankful  for — he  has  not  the 
least  idea  about  Sir  Owen.     I  am  not  nervous,  but  I  do  he 
that  if  he  suspected  what  has  happened  he  would  kill 
him." 

As  Felix  left  the  house  to  return  home,  Jennie,  a  smart 
housemaid,  who  had  often  opened  the  door  for  him,  and 
who  thought  him  a  noble-looking  gentleman,  ran  after  him. 

"Do  forgive  me,  sir,"  she  said  ;  "but  you  have  always 
been  so  good  to  me,  and  I  know  all  about  it.  I  am  so  sorry 
for  you,  sir,  that  I  cannot  sleep  for  thinking  of  it." 

He  tried  to  look  indifferent,  to  smile,  but  he  could  not: 
Ins  pride  and  self-control  broke  down  at  these  pitying 
words. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  know,  Jennie,"  he  said. 

"  They  have  sent  her  away,  sir,  so  that  you  should  not 
see  her  and  persuade  her.  They  have  kept  it  quite  a  secret 
where  she  is  gone — no  one  knows — but  I  stole  into  her  room 
and  saw  her  trunk  addressed  to  North  Alton,  and  1  know 
that  Mrs.  Have  has  a  cousin  living  at  North  Alton.  IShe  is 
gone  there,  sir,  and  nowhere  else.'1 

"Thank  you,  Jennie,"  he  said — "you  have  proved  your- 
self a  friend." 

Jennie  w^ould  not  take  the  sovereign  he  offered  her,  and 
the  sympathy  he  read  in  her  face  cheered  him. 

"It  will  be  all  right  when  I  see  Miss  Haye,"  he  said 
"  They  have  over-persuaded  her.    She  loves  me — and  I  trust 
her." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TEMPORIZING. 

Felix  sent  his  clerk  to  Vale  House  with  a  note  saying  that 
.lie  family  were  not  to  be  alarmed  if  he  did  not  return  that 
evening,  as  he  had  some  important  business  )..  transact  in  a 
town  some  miles  distant  ;  and  harry  Lonsdale,  who  was  (,„> 
ill  then  to  feel  an  interest  in  anything  professional,  feel.ly 
blessed  him  as  he  listened. 

-He  works  hard."  said  Kate,  as  she  read  the  note;  then 
she  sighed,  thinking  how  different  matters  would  have 
been  had  Felix  loved  F.velyn  instead  of  Violet.  The  Hayes 
had  stood  aloof  from  them  in  their  troubles;  they  had  ex- 
pressed, but  little  sympathy,  and  Mrs.  Lonsdale  felt  it 
keenly.  Violet  had  not  beeii  to  see  them  as  Eve  Lester  had 


108  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.    ' 

been ;  and  Kate  sighed  again  as  she  thought  of  tn<5 
ence  between  the  two  girls. 

North  Alton  was  quite  forty  miles  from  Lilford. 
knew  that  the  name  of  Mrs.  Haye's  cousin  was  Miss    W3S1>- 
ern.     He  had  often  heard  Violet  laugh  about  her  mothei-g 
cousin,  who  was  an  old  maid.     He  said  to  himself   that  no 
would  gc   to   North  Alton  by  the  night  train ;    then   ho 
could  see  Violet  in  the  morning,  and  be  at  home  again  | 
in  the  evening.      He  little  dreamed  that  people    looked' 
at  him  earnestly  as  he  went  to  the  station.     His  hand."! 
some  young  face  bore   the    impress  of    unutterable 
row ;    his    eyes    were    dim    and  shadowed,     with    great 
dark    circles    round    them;    his    lips    were     pale     an.; 
trembling.     He  had  never  thought  of  taking  food — he  had 
not   even  drank  a  glass  of  water  to  cool  his  parched  lips. 
So  ill,  so  sorrow-stricken,  so  unlike  the  handsome,  gallant, 
noble  Felix  of  the  day  before  was  he  that  Mrs.  Lonsdale 
would  hardly  have  known  him  had  she  seen  him — he  looked 
like  the  ghost  of  himself. 

When  he  stood  before  Violet  she  uttered  a  cry  of  sorrow 
and  dismay.  He  had  left  the  hotel  to  go  to  her  aunt's 
house,  and  met  her  just  as,  dressed  for  a  walk,  she  was 
leaving  the  little  front  garden.  One  of  Miss  Western's 
manias  was  early  walking.  He  waited  until  Violet  had 
gone  some  little  distance  down  the  road,  and  then  he  fol- 
lowed her.  She  gave  a  little  cry,  and  stood  silent  and  shame- 
stricken  before  him.  He  saw  the  sorrow,  but  not  the  shame, 
and  the  sorrow  misled  him.  The  dreadful  livid  pallor,  the 
stony  mask,  fell  from  his  face  as  a  snow-wreath  melts  in 
the  warm  light  of  the  sun. 

"My  darling,"  he  cried,  "I  knew  it  was  false — I  knew 
that  you  had  not  said  it !  Oh,  thank  Heaven,  thank 
Heaven !"  He  leaned,  pale  and  breathless,  against  the 
trunk  of  an  elm  tree.  "I  believed  in  you,  my  darling,"  he 
said.  "  I  knew  that  you  had  not  sanctioned  it ;  you  could 
not — you  hold  my  life  in  your  hands.  And  yet  why  did 
you  come  here?  Why  did  you  not  write  to  me?  Speak  to 
me,  Violet,  for  by  the  heaven  above  me,  I  swsar  that  I  am 
going  mad  !" 

•  She  was  frightened,  scared,  at  the  wild  eyes,  tl  13  hoarse 
voice,  the  face  so  full  of  pain.  She  dared  not  have  said  to 
him — "  I  have  made  my  choice,  Felix,  between  love  and 
gold.  I  have  chosen  gold.  '  And,  wretched  as  she  was, 
though  she  had  given  him  up,  and  never  meant  to  mar.-y 
him,  her  whole  heart  went  out  to  him  with  greater  warmti? 
and  greater  love  than  it  hf*d  ever  felt  before  Slit  a«ic  out 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAX.  109 

her  hands  to  him,  but  started  at  the  touch  of  his ;  they 
burned  her  like  fire. 

"  You  are  making  yourself  ill,  Felix,"  she  said. 

"Ill !"  he  repeated — and  his  laugh  was  more  terrible  to 
her  than  any  words.  "  How  would  you  feel,  Violet,  had  any 
one  tried  to  tear  the  living,  beating  heart  from  your  body  ? 
Oh,  my  darling,  tell  me  it  is  not  true — tell  me  so,  for 
ll-.-avcii's  sake!  Say  that  it  is  false — that  they  persuaded 
you,  urged  you,  wrote  without  your  knowledge!  Speak  to 
me  <|uickly.  for  I  am  going  mad  !" 

She  was  only  a  woman — at  the  very  best  a  weak  one — 
and  she  loved  even  after  the  weak  fashion  in  which  some 
women  love.  She  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  his  pain. 
She  dared  not  tell  him  the  truth;  she  did  what  weak 
•won leu  so  often  do — she  temporized. 

"  I  thought  it  best,  Felix,  to — give  you  some  years  free 
that  you  might  work  the  better.  I  should  not  like  to  be 
a.  1>  irden  to  you." 

I  Ic  dre\\-  a  deep  breath,  like  one  relieved  from  an  intoler- 
able load,  from  an  unbearable  pain. 

••  Is  that  all?    Oh,  my  darling,  my  generous,  noble  Violet, 

is  that  all?     I  will   not  reproach  you.     But  why  have  you 

given  me  this  terrible  fright?     I  have  been  almost  dead.     I 

am  fifty  years  older  with  these  hours  of  terrible  pain.     Why 

did  you   not   tell  me,  sweet,  what  you  dreaded?     There    is 

nothing  to  tear,  Violet.   I  am  so  strong  when  I  think  of  you 

tl.it    1    eoiild   work   by  night   and    by    day   yet  never    feel 

i"d.     Such  love  as  mine  puts  nerve  into  a.  man's  ri.^ht 

arm.     oh,  Violet   sweet,    you  need  not  fear!     You    shall 

i  home   as  beautiful   as  love  can  make  it.     You  shall 

a  life  so  easy  and  so  free  from  care  that  when  it  ends 

you  will    look  back    in    wonder    to  see  how  it  has  j. 

You  shall  never  know  pain  or  fatigue,  that   I  can  save   you 

from.     You  shall  be  served  and  waited  upon  and  attended 

to  unceasingly.1' 

She  made  him  no  answer,  but  her  hands  touched  his 
gently. 

"A  burden  !"  he  repeated.     "You'  were  afraid  of  being  a 
burden  to   me!       Oh,   Viol.-t,  life  of  my   life.    1    ought   to 
laii-h  at  you  !    Sweet  burden  that  I  would  fain  carry  until 
i    chums  me!     Would  to    Heaven    that  the  time    were 
near    wnen    I  could  make  the  dear  burden  all  mine  :' 
had  not  the  courage  to    l".>k  at  him    and    s;; 

i  iove  riches  netter— 1   have   chosen   tln-m  in- 
.011."     She    had    not,  the  courage  t"  say  it  in  that 
ightened  evtit-  to  remember  it... 


110  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  You  will  never  feel  this  fear  again,  Violet,  will  you  ?" 
he  said,  speaking  more  like  himself  than  he  had  yet.  "  It 
is  so  absurd — yet  perhaps  it  is  natural  to  a  sensitive  mind 
like  yours.  I  am  sane  now,  but  I  have  been  mad.  Does 
my  face  alarm  you  ?  You  need  only.laugh  at  it,  sweet.  I 
have  forgotten  to  eat  and  to  drink  since  your  mother's  let- 
ter came.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly  and  warmly,  but 
it  seemed  to  change  all  at  once  into  a  scorching  fire-ball, 
and  I  went  mad.  Yet  I  did  not  lose  my  faith  in  you,  Vio- 
let. I  knew  that  you  would  never  have  spoken  as  your 
mother  did,  never  have  written  as  she  did.  I  can  forgive 
her ;  it  is  only  natural  that  she  should  think  so  much  of 
you.  No  man  could  seem  good  enough  for  you.  I  am 
not  good  enough,  but  I  love  you  so  dearly  that  my  great 
love  stands  in  the  place  of  great  riches  or  great  rank." 

Still  she  uttered  no  word — she  dared  not  tell  him  the 
truth. 

"You  are  strangely  silent,  Violet,"  he  said.  "Have  I 
frightened  you  ?" 

"  No, "  she  replied ;  "  but  you  have  startled  me — you  look 
so  ill,  Felix,  and  so  unlike  your  own  self." 

"No  wonder,  my  darling,"  he  returned.  "But  I  will  not 
startle  you  again — I  will  remember  how  sensitive  you  are." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile — so  sirens  smile  at  the 
men  they  lure  to  destruction. 

"Felix,"  she  said,  "you  should  not  love  me  so  much, 
dear — you  know  what  I  have  always  told  you  about  idols 
of  clay." 

"  I  cannot  help  it ;  my  mission  in  life  is  to  love  you." 

"I  cannot  ask  you  to  come  in  and  see  me,"  she  said. 
"  Miss  Western  does  not  like  gentlemen ;  she  never  receives 
visitors." 

"My  darling,  I  must  hasten  home,"  he  told  her.  "But 
you  have  not  informed  me  why  you  came  here,  Violet." 

"  Mamma  wished  me  to  come.  I  was  not  quite  strong — I 
wanted  a  change." 

kk  And  why  did  you  not  write  to  me,  sweet  ?''  he  continued. 

She  paused  one  moment.  Should  she  tell  him  or  not? 
No — she  could  not ;  she  loved  him  too  much,  and  she  was 
somewhat  ashamed.  She  found  an  excuse ;  there  was  no 
need  for  it  to  be  a  very  good  one  to  satisfy  him. 

"  I  knew  you  were  true  to  me,  Violet, "  he  said.  "  I  knew 
that  it  was  your  mother  who  had  persuaded  you — who  had 
written  that  cruel  letter  without  your  sanction,  perhaps 
your  knowledge." 

"I  knew  that  she  was  going  to  write  it,"  Violet  told  him 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  Ill 

— but  he  was  not  afraid  even  then.  No  man  is  so  completely 

blind  as  a  man  in  love. 

"  Then  you  sanctioned  it  to  try  me — you  sanctioned  it  to 

Bee  how  much  I  loved  you  ?    Listen,  Violet  sweet — I  shall 

go  home  and  I  shall  work  as  no  man  ever  did.  I  shall  begin 

at  once  to  get  your  house  ready  for  you — I  shall   wait  no 

:• — and  when  it  is  ready,  if  your  mother  does  not  give 

>nsent,  I  shall  run  away  with   you.     Do  you  hear,  my 

darling;  I  shall  do  as  Jock  o'  Ha/Iedean  did." 

laughed  faintly.     Even  then  she  had  not  the  courage 
v,  "The  letter  was  all  true,  and  I  have  given  you  up  of 
my  own  accord."     Even  then  she  deceived  him. by  her  look 
and  smile,  if  not  by  her  words. 

"  1  must  not  stay  longer,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  go  back  home 
a  different  man.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  know  that  one's 
fate  lies  altogether  in  the  hands  of  a  single  creature;  but, 
when  they  are  such  true,  sweet  hands  as  yours.  Violet, 
there  is  nothing  to  fear.  I  will  go  back  now  to  rny  work, 
which  is  sweetened  by  my  love.  Darling,  say  once  more 
for  me  the  words  I  love  so  dearly — 'I  belong  to  you, 

Felix.'  " 

She  had  always  said  them  before  while  looking  up  at  him 

with  an  arch,  sweet  smile,  her   beautiful  eyes   seeking  his; 

now  the  fair  face   drooped  with  a  burning  flush.     She  was 

nervous,  weak,  and  guilty,  but  not  guilty  enough  to  repeat 

false  words. 

"  I  am  afraid  Miss  Western  will  find  you  here,  Felix,"  she 
said;  "if  she  does,  she  will  send  for  mamma." 

"Are  you  so  closely  guarded,  my  darling?"  he  laughed. 
"Ah.  well,  never  mind.  It  will  not  be  for  long.  I  shall 
hasten  home  ;  I  shall  prepare  your  house,  and  when  it  is 
ready  I  will  take  you  if  all  the  world  should  try  to  prevent 
me.  for  y. ni  are  my  own.  I  shall  go  home  happy  because  I 
trust  in  you,  and  believe  in  you.  1  shall  never  believe  that 
you  have  changed  tome  until  you  tell  me  so  yourself. 
by,  my  darling,  love  of  my  heart—  good  -by  I" 

She  watcln-d  him  as  he  went  down  the  high-road,  and  the 
impulse  was  strong  upon  her  to  call  him  back  and  say  to 
him  that  she  had  given  him  up  ;  that  the  life  of  love  and 
stru^-le  that  he  offered  her  h;id  no  charm  for  her  ;  that  she 

had  weighed  both,  ami  had  deliberately  given  the  prefer- 
ence to  wealth;  that  he  must  go  home  and  learn  to  forget 
her. 

She  knew  that  sh6  was  in  honor  and  in  conscience  bound 
to  tell  him  this,  but  she  did  not.  She  watched  him  as  ho 
walked  down  the  high-road,  knowing  that  he  went  away 


112  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

with  Fa  sense  of  hope  in  his  heart  that  was  hereafter  to 
cause  him  only  more  deadly  pain.  The  wrong  that  she  did 
him  in  letting  him  leave  her  with  the  truth  untold  was  as 
great  as  the  wrong  she  had  done  him  in  breaking  her 
plighted  troth. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
"AM  i  Nor  KIND?" 

Felix  was  at  rest  for  a  short  time.  When  he  grew 
calmer  and  thought  more  carefully  about  Mrs.  Have's 
letter,  he  ceased  to  feel  any  great  surprise.  Mrs.  Have  was, 
he  knew,  a  worldly  woman,  and  nothing  was  more  natural 
under  the  circumstances  than  that  she  should  cease  to  care 
for  her  daughter's  marriage  with  him.  But,  with  the  hope 
that  had  sprung  up  afresh  in  his  heart,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  his  strength  and  his  energy  had  no  bounds,  that  he 
could  work  as  no  one  had  ever  worked.  Violet  was  the 
mainspring  of  it  all.  If  he  lost  her,  he  knew  that  he  should 
never  care  to  do  another  hour's  labor.  He  began  afresh 
with  such  zeal,  such  energy,  such  industry  and  perse- 
verance, that  every  one  wondered  at  him.  He  let  them 
wonder,  he  knew  why  he  was  working. 

And,  while  he  was  counting  the  hours,  trying  to  turn 
each  one  into  gold,  Sir  Owen  was  busy,  too.  He  had  come 
to  a  perfect  understanding  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Have.  He 
told  them  that  he  would  cheerfully  give  half  his  fortune  to 
make  Violet  his  wife.  He  ^ad  asked  them  to  help  him, 
and  had  promised  them  their  reward.  Mrs.  Haye  went  on 
a  short  visit  to  her  cousin,  and  was  dismayed  to  hear  from 
Violet  that  Felix  had  been  to  see  her,  that  he  had  gone 
back  home  with  the  hope  that  all  was  rig-lit. 

"Why  did  you (  not  tell  him  the  truth,  Violet?"  asked 
Mrs.  Haye,  sternly.  "  It  was  cruel  to  deceive  him  further. " 

"  I  could  not,  mamma, "  she  replied,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears ;  "he  looked  so  ill  and  unhappy,  I  could  not." 

"It  was  cruel  kindness,  Violet,"  declared  Mrs.  Haye,  but 
she  said  no  more,  knowing  that  in  her  daughter's  place, 
she  should  have  done  the  same  thing. 

It  was  arranged  that  Sir  Owen  should  go  down  to  North 
Alton  and  renew  his  offer  of  marriage.  If  Violet  consented, 
the  marriage  must  take  place,  Mrs.  Haye  said,  in  London. 

If  they  were  married  at  Lilford,  Felix  Lonsdale  was  quite 
capable  of  going  into  the  church,  and  taking  the  bride 
from  the  altar.  She  was  sorry  for  him,  and  she  felt  that 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  113 

it  would  be  needless  cruelty  for  the  marriage  to  be  cele- 
brated just  before  his  eyes.  "  It  will  be  hard  enough,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "without  that." 

11  was  arranged  as  she  desired.  Sir  Owen  went  to 
North  Alton,  and  the  beautiful,  fickle  girl  who  had  loved 
Felix  Lonsdale  and  given  him  up,  plighted  her  tr<  >th  t< »  a 
man  she  did  not  love,  plighted  it  because  he  was  rich.  He 
had  taken  with  him  a  magnificent  diamond  ring,  which 
to  be  the  pledge  of  their  engagement:  and.  as  he 
placed  it  on  her  finger,  he  looked  wistfully  into  her  1 

"  You  care  for  me  a  little,  Violet,  do  you  not  ?    You  are  a 
cold   bride,  after  all,  for  a  man  to  win.     If  I   though' 
really  liked  that  lawyer  better  than  me,  I   would   not   ask 
you  to  marry  me,  upon  my  soul  I  would  not.     I   giv. 
all  I  have — my  love  and  my  fortune.     Surely  you    h 
smile  and  a  kind  word  to  ^ive  me  in  return  !" 

N..  wonder  that  he  spoke  in  that  strain  to  her.      Sh> 

••ak  ever  to  be  a  great  sinner,  too  weak  to  sin  and  for- 
get   her  sin.     It  looked  her  in  the    face  now  as  she 
with   the   light   of  the    baronet's    eyes    upon    her,  tin- 
mond   ring   on   her  finger,  contrasting  the  wooing  of  her 

•nd  knowing  full  well  which  was  b. 
"Am  I  not  kind  '."  she  aske-1.  with  an  exquisite    sn, 
smile  that  pleased   him  so  that  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms 
and  -er. 

When    he  did    so  she    wished    herself  dead  lidto 

'f  that  she  could  not  go  through  with  this  new  ei 
ment  :  that  she    must    let    the    v..-,:Hh,  the    i  title 

must  give  all  up  and  x<>  back  to  1-Vlix.     She 
loved  Felix,  and    she  did  not,  nor    would 

11. 

She  had  a  few  minute--;  fur  tli.'--  reflection^,  and  then   he 

r  of  the  future,  of   all   she   would    enjoy,  ho\v 

'  \vould  envy  her,  and  what  a  pi  .sit!,  in  >he  \v..al-.l  take 

in   the   <rreat.  bright    world.     She   listened,    for  the    words 

pleasant,  and  forgot  her  pain. 

To   Felix   Lousdale   then-   came  strange   rumors,  hut  he 
!  not  believe  ;uiy  of   them.     He  had  implicit    faith    in 
Violet,  implicit  trust.   Until  she  told  him  thai 

n.  he  should  not  believe  one  word  to  that  •  ; 

7iiorning  he  received  two  letters.    One  was  from  Vio- 
:id  said  : 

"  Try  to  forgot  me,  Felix.     I   have   nevor  Wen  worthy  of  the   great 

I  am  not  worthy  of    it  now.     Try  t< 
me;  for  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over,  and  I  can  see  that  our  en- 


114  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

gagement  must  be  broken.  You  said  you  would  believe  it  when  I 
wrote  it.  Believe  it  now,  for  I  say  that  it  must  end.  In  the  years  to 
cornewe  may  be  friends— never  anything  more.  VIOLET." 

He  read  it  with  unbelief.  Some  one  had  compelled  her 
to  write  it ;  it  had  not  been  done  of  her  own  free  will ;  of 
that  he  was  sure. 

The  second  note  was  from  his  humble,  faithful  friend, 
Jennie,  the  pretty  housemaid,  written  with  many  apologies 
for  the  liberty  she  had  taken ;  but  she  wanted  him  to 
know  that  her  young  lady  would  be  at  home  at  the  Limes 
that  night,  on  her  road  from  North  Alton  to  London.  Her 
master  and  mistress  were  going  to  London  with  Miss  Vio- 
let, she  added,  and  she  was  afraid  there  was  mischief  on 
foot  It  was  her  own  private  opinion  that  they  had  per- 
suaded Miss  Violet  to  marry  some  one  else.  If  he  went  to 
the  Limes  late  that  evening,  she  would  keep  the  entrance 
gate  and  the  garden  gate  open,  and  she  would  manage 
that  he  should  see  Miss  Have. 

He  read  both  letters  through,  but  he  did  not  lose  his 
reason  this  time.  A  calm,  settled  despair  came  to  him, 
against  which  he  struggled  Jblindly  ;  he  would  not  believe 
that  his  love  was  false  even  though  he  read  it  in  her  own 
handwriting.  He  would  not  believe  it  unless  she  told  him 
so  herself;  anything  was  more  credible  than  that  she 
should  have  deceived  him  and  broken  her  word.  When  he 
believed  that,  he  said  to  himself,  the  heavens  would  fall. 
Whom  could  she  be  going  to  marry  ?  How  absurd  !  How 
ridiculous  !  He  had  never  heard  her  name  mentioned  ex- 
cept with  his  own.  He  knew  that  she  had  many  admirers, 
but  who  would  dare  to  speak  of  marriage  to  her  when  it 
was  well  known  that  she  was  engaged  to  him?  He  could 
well  understand  that  it  was  Jennie's  own  sensitive  care  and 
anxiety  for  him  that  had  led  her  to  make  the  mistake. 

He  would  go,  however,  and  see  Violet,  and  hear  from 
her  what  it  all  meant ;  but  not  at  night ;  certainly  not  when 
it  was  late,  as  though  he  were  afraid  of  being  seen.  He 
was  her  betrothed  lover,  she  was  his  promised  wife.  He 
would  go  up  to  the  front  door  in  the  broad  daylight,  and 
ask  to  see  the  girl  who  had  promised  to  marry  him.  Sud- 
denly he  remembered  that,  if  he  did  so,  he  must  betiay 
Jennie.  Violet's  return  had  been  kept  a  secret,  and  the 
family  would  at  once  suspect  her  of  having  betrayed  it. 
Another  thing  had  occurred  to  him  ;  if  they  did  not  wish 
him  to  see  Violet,  and  he  went  in  a  straightforward,  honest 
way  to  ask  for  her,  they  might,  and  most  probably  would. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  115 

refuse  to  let  him  see  her ;  they  would  invent  some  untruth 
or  other,  and,  if  she  were  really  going  to  London,  he  should 
miss  the  only  chance  he  had  of  seeing  her.     It  was  humili- 
ating and  mortifying,  but  he  must  act  as  Jennie  pn,i> 
he  had  no  other  resource.     He  would  go  that  night  an 
Violet. 

.in   he  wrote   home   to  say  that  he  should  not  return 
until   late;  and   Kate's  kind  eyes  filled  with  tears  as   she 
read,    thinking  how  hard  he  was  working,  and  her 
.ve  her  that  it  was  all   for  nothing;  that  the  pi 
was  laboring  and  waiting   and  hoping  for    would  never  be 
his.     She  had  heard    of    Violet's  absence  from    home,  and 
her  quick  mother-wit  had  soon  told  her  that  of  that  al 
Felix  knew  little  or  nothing.     She  drew  a  bad  augury  from 
that.     It  boded  mischief  to  him,  she   felt   sure.     She   was 
compelled   to   content   herself   with   the   thought   that  she 
would  sit  up  for  him  and  attend  to  his  comfort  when  he  did 
return. 

Felix  went.  He  -hated  himself  for  going  at  night,  when 
no  one  could  see  him  ;  for  seeking  a  clandestine  interview 
with  his  promised  wife.  The  night  was  dark,  and  the  wind 
blew  cold,  it  was  after  nine  when  he  readied  the  en1rane< 
gate,  lie  found  it  open,  and  Jennie  waiting  for  him  inside. 

••  You  will  not  be  angry  with  me,  sir,  will  you '."  she  said. 
"But  it  seemed  to  be  almost  as  though  some  one  were 
being  killed.  I  am  quite  sure  they  have  persuaded  my 
young  lady  to  marry  some  one  else.  I  heard  her  crying 
'bitterly  tin's  evening." 

But  Felix  could  not  discuss  the  stibjeet  nearest  to  his 
heart  even  with  this  faithful,  humble  friend. 

uDo  you  think  I  shall  be  able  to  see  Miss  Have,  Jennie  .'" 

ked. 

Yes,  sir.  I  will  give  her  a  message  that  in  a  few  min- 
utes will  bring  her  down  here  to  you.  She  will  not  In- 
angry  with  me."  And  in  a  few  minutes  she  had  kept  he- 
word. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"TIES   SUBSTANCK   FOR  THE   SHADOW." 

Jennie  delivered  her   message,    and  Violet   quickly  ap- 
peared at  the  gate  of  the  Limes. 

Before   Felix  had   spoken  to    her.  before   be  had  touched 

her  hand,  the   moment  he  had  looked  into  hep    f.-tir,  droop 
ing  face  he  knew  that  she  was  guilty.    Something  had  g<  -u- 


116  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

from  it  that  he  was  never  to  see  again ;  something  was 
there  which  was  never  more  to  leave  it.  She  gazed  at 
him,  and  gave  a  little  low  cry,  then  standing  before  him 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  He  went  up  to  her 
slowly ;  he  took  her  hands  from  her  face  and  raised  it  to 
his  own.  Then  the  lovely  eyes  closed ;  they  could  not  meet 
his.  He  dropped  her  hands. 

"You  are  guilty,  Violet.  Great  Heaven,  you  have  be- 
trayed me.  You  meant  what  you  wrote  to-day." 

There  was  something  so  quiet  in  his  despair  that  Violet 
imagined  his  tone  to  be  one  almost  of  indifference,  and  the 
thought  gave  her  corn-age ;  if  he  had  shown  any  'sign  of 
great  pain  she  would  have  been  frightened. 

"  I  could  not  help  it, "  she  replied.  "  Do  not  be  angry  with 
me,  Felix.  I  know  it  is  the  poorest  of  excuses,  but  it  is 
true  ;  I  cannot  help  it.  It  was  of  no  use  going  on  in  the 
same  dreary  way.  It  must  have  come  to  an  end  sometime. " 

"Let  me  quite  understand,"  he  said;  "let  me  make  no 
mistake  this  time.  What  have  you  done,  Violet  ?" 

"•  I  have  not  done  anything ;  but  it  seems  better  that  we 
should  part.  No  good  can  come  of  our  engagement ;  it  was 
a  mistake." 

He  looked  sadly  at  her. 

"  You  say  so,  my  darling,  to  whom  I  have  given  the  best 
love  of  my  heart  ;*  my  life  itself ;  you  say  that '?" 

"It  is  true,  Felix,"  she  replied;  "and  I  am  very  sorry. 
I  shall  never  like  any  one  as  I  have  liked  you,  and  you  will 
never  really  care  about  any  other  woman  as  you  have 
cared  for  me  ;  I  know  it,  but  it  cannot  be  helped." 

He  held  up  his  head  with  such  dignity,  such  passion  of 
despair,  that  she  was  silenced.  The  false,  light  words,  the 
false,  light  excuses,  all  withered  into  nothing,  and  she 
knew  that  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  a  mighty  sorrow,  a 
mighty  passion.  All  her  little  affectations,  her  miserable 
apologies,  became  as  nothing  before  Felix's  heart-rending 
distress  and  hopelessness. 

"  Hush  !"  he  said.  "  Do  not  add  to  your  sin  by  another 
false  word  ;  do  not  mock  me  by  excuses  which  you  would 
be  ash^Hned  to  make  to  a  servant  whom  you  were  dismissing 
unjustly.  Tell  me,  is  it  true  ?" 

"  Is  what  true,  Felix  ?  Do  not  look  so  angrily  at  me — 
you  frighten  me.  Is  what  h  -ie?" 

As  she  spoke  she  shrank  back  from  him  until  she  stood 
near  the  lilac  bushes,  the  branches  of  which  were  bare  now 
of  flowers. 

"Not    t.horri."  ho   cried,   "for    Heaven's  sake,   not   thnro. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  117 

/'ou  stood  there,  a  few  short  weeks  since,  with  your  arm 
around  my  neck,  with  your  hand  in  mine,  swearing  to  be 
true  to  me,  saying  that  you  belonged  to  me ;  that  you 
loved  me.  Come  away  from  there  if  you  would  not  drive 
me  mad." 

She  returned  to  him,  and  they  walked  some  little  distance 
from  the  lilac  bushes. 

"Violet,"  he  said,  "I  can  hardly  believe  that  our  meeting 
thus  is  real.  I  must  be  in  a  dream,  from  which  I  shall 
soon  awake,  'and  laugh  to  think  that  I  believed  in  what 
was  happening.  It  cannot  be  that  I,  Felix  Lonsdale,  havo 
had  to  steal  under  the  cover  of  darkness  to  meet  you,  my 
promised  wife,  and  that  you  who  have  loved  me,  who  have 
kissed  me,  who  have  looked  on  me  as  your  future  hus- 
band, are  here  to  tell  me  that  you  are  false  to  me.  Stand 
still,  so,  and  let  me  look  into  the  face  wherein  I  thought 
all  happiness  lay.  Now  tell  me,  is  it — true?" 

He  held  her  before  him ;  she  felt  that  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  her;  they  seemed  to  burn  to  her  very  heart. 

"You  put  things  so  strangely,"  she  said.  "I  hardly 
knovv  what  answer  to  make  to  you.  You  are  nut  fair  to 
me.  I  have  found  that  my  engagement  to  marry  you  is 
not  wise  for  either  of  us,  and  I  tell  you  so.  I  see  no  hein- 
ous crime  in  that." 

"You  promised  to  love  me,  and  me  alone,  until  death; 
do  you  mean  to  keep  that  promise?  No  prevarication; 
speak  truthfully,  'Yes1  or  'No;'  do  you  mean  to  keep  that. 
promise?  Speak,  Violet." 

But  he  had  to  bend  low  to  hear  her  answer ;  it  was  whis- 
pered "No.'' 

"You  promised  to  marry  me,  to  be   my   wife,  to   spend 
your  life  with  me  and  brighten  mine  ;  do  you  mean  t« 
.that  promise?     Speak — 'Yes1  or  'No.'  ' 

"No."  she  whispered  again. 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  you  refuse.  Violet?"1 

Again  she  took  courage'at  the  seeming  indifference  of  hi? 
tone. 

"I  cannot,    Felix,"  she  said;  "you   will   find    many  an 
Other  more  suited  to  be  your  wife  than  I  am." 

"I  do  not  want  any  one  but  you  who  have  promised. 
What,  is  there  in  the  life  I  offer  you  that  you  disi 

"  All  of  it,  except— that    I   should   like  lo  he  uith  you. 
dislike   the    poverty,  th-'   obscurity-  the   lack    of   rank  and 
position.      I    ajn  not  SO  noble   as  you    have  always  thought 
me,  Felix.     I  love  wealth  and  luxury,  1  love  magnificence. 
I  should  never  be,  content  in  the  little  home  that,  you  would 


118  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

give  me  ;  there  would  not  be  enough  to  fill  my  life.  I  felt 
that  when  I  stood  in  it.  I  asked  myself  how  I  should  live 
through  the  long  years  there.  I  should  be  miserable,  and 
you  would  be  miserable,  too." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Would  not  love  content  you  ?"  he  asked. 

The  golden  head  drooped  before  him.  She  was  ashamed 
of  the  words  she  had  to  speak. 

••  No,  it  would  not  content  me,"  she  replied.  "You  deem 
me  better,  wiser,  and  nobler  than  I  am.  There  are  hun- 
dreds of  good  and  noble  women  in  the  world  who  ask  only 
for  love  and  are  content  with  it.  Seek  one  of  those,  Felix 
— they  are  worthier  than  I." 

"  Hush  !v  he  cried  again.  "Do  not  say  such  words  ;  many 
a  man  has  taken  the  life  of  the  woman  he  loved  for  less 
than  that." 

She  shrank  back  from  him  with  a  pale,  scared  face  ;  he 
smiled  one  of  the  saddest  and  bitterest  smiles  she  had  ever 
seen  on  a  human  face. 

u  Have  no  fear,  Violet ;  I  spoke  without  reflection.  You 
cannot  think  I  meant  to  threaten  you ;  you,  every  hair  of 
whose  head  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life.  Love  would 
not  content  you,  Violet  ?" 

"  Xo.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  the  truth.  I  was  ignorant 
of  many  things  when  I  promised  to  marry  you.  I  did  not 
know  what  riches  meant,  what  luxury  or  magnificence 
was. what  luxury  or  pleasure  comprised." 

"  And  you  know  now?"  he  said  when  she  paused. 

"Yes,  I  know  now,  and  I  cannot  do  without  them.  I 
would  rather  have  had  love  with  them ;  as  I  cannot  have 
both,  I  choose  them.  You  cannot  call  it  a  great  sin,  Felix, 
to  change  my  mind  when  I  did  not  know  what  my  mind 
was." 

"Violet,"  he  said,  gravely,  "do  you  know  what  even  the 
world  says  of  a  woman  who  deliberately  jilts  her  lover?" 

"No,"  she  replied. 

"  It  says  some  hard  things.  It  says  that  the  woman  who 
could  be  false  to  her  plighted  lover,  would  be  false  to  her 
husband  and  to  Heaven ;  it  says  that  such  a  woman  bi'ands 
herself  '.liar'  before  the  whole  world,  that  she  loses  the 
claim  to  ro^k  with  women  of  honor.  That  is  what  the  world 
says.  Do  you  know  what  a  higher  Dower  than  the  world 
says  ?" 

"No,"  she  answered  him  again. 

"That  lying  lips  are  an  abomination.  Whose  lips  lie  so 
cruelly,  so  falsely,  as  the  lips  of  the  woman  who  break* 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  119 

her  plighted  word  and  oath  of  fidelity,  who  lures  a  man  on 
to  love  her  with  sweet  words  and  sweet  smiles,  who  prom- 
ises to  love  him  forever,  and  then  turns  round  and  says  she 
wealth  better?  Where  will  you  get  this  coveted 
wealth,  Violet,  even  if  you  persist  in  refusing  to  keep  your 
word  to  me?'' 

But  she  did  not  Answer  him  ;  there  were  limits  to  what 
she  dare  do,  and  she  dared  not  tell  him  that  she  was  going 
to  marry  Sir  Owen. 

"You  are  very  hard  on  me,  Felix,"  she  said. 

"  Nay,  I  am  but  telling  you  the  truth,  the  solemn,  unvar- 
nished truth.  If  you  do  give  me  up  and  marry  even  a  title, 
never  dream  that  you  will  have  the  respect  or  the  esteem 
of  your  fellow-creatures ;  you  would  always  be  spoken  of 
as  the  woman  who  jilted  her  true  lover  to  marry  a 
wealthier  man." 

But,  in  the  pride  of  her  youth  and  her  beauty,  in  the  pride 
of  the  future  that  seemed  so  brilliant  to  her,  she  Avould  not 
believe  that ;  she  did  not  believe  it,  although  she  did  not 
say  so  to  him. 

"Listen  again,  Violet,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  grave, 
>sionate  voice.  "  You  seem  to  think  it  a  mere  matter 
of  changing  your  mind.  Look- at  it  now  from  my  point  of 
vif\v;  forget  yourself  for  one  minute  and  think  of  me.  I 
have  loved  you  all  my  life  ;  ah,  my  darling,  you  will  never 
know  how  dearly  or  how  well!  You  are  my  life  itself ; 
my  heart  and  love  and  soul  are  centered  in  you,  my  hopes 
,-rown  round  you.  I  have  always  thought  of  yon  as 
my  wife;  as  the  chosen  companion  of  my  life.  Ah,  my 
darling,  if  I  stood  here  until  the  sun  shone  again  I  could 
not  tt-ll  you  how  I  love  you.  I  have  never  thought  of  life 
without  you, never.  I  could  as  soon  live  without  air,  with- 
out food,  as  without  my  hope  of  you,  my  love  of  you  ;  my 
life  will  end  when  you  leave  me.  Think  of  my  claim,  Vio- 
let. You  promised  me,  and  I  have  lived  on  yonr  promise; 
what  is  to  become  of  me  if  you  change  your  mind  ?" 

"You  will  forget  me  soon,  Felix,"  she  said,  gently. 

"Yes,  dear,  when  the  sun  ceases  to  shine,  when  the  tido 
neither  ebbs  nor  flows,  when  flowers  cease  to  bloom  and 
birds  to  sing;  but  not  until  then,  Violet,  not  until  then, 
my  sweet."  His  voice  took  all  its  old  sweetness,  h is  f'a<-e 
its  old  light,  as  he  drew  nearer  to  her.  M  My  darling."  he 
said,  "it  was  not  your  real  self  that  was  speaking.  Your 
parents  have  persuaded  you.  They  have  told  you  that  I 
<;annot  give  you  a  home  suited  for  you  ;  but  I  can,  my  darl- 
ing, lean.  Only  trust  me.  It  is  a  strange  dream  this;  a 


120  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

dream  that  will  soon  pass.  They  have  persuaded  you  to 
say  ivhat  you  did.  It  was  not  my  Violet  who  spoke,  from 
whose  heart  those  worldly  thoughts  and  -worldly  sayings 
came.  They  have  persuaded  you,  and  talked  to  you,  until 
your  thoughts  and  ideas  are  all  confused.  Violet,  sweet, 
forget  all  they  have  advised,  forget  this  wretched  inter- 
view. You  cannot  mean  what  you  have  said.  Nothing  so 
beautiful  could  be  so  false ;  nothing  so  fair  could  be  so 
cruel.  Let  us  forget  it,  my  darling.  I  forgive  it  all,  for  I 
know  it  has  been  taught  to  you.  Violet,  let  us  bury  the 
past  wretched  weeks.  Let  uc  begin  again ;  you  with  re- 
newed faith  in  me,  I  with  my  old  love  and  old  faith  in  you 
— faith  and  love  which  have  never  varied,  and  never  will. 
Will  you  listen  to  me,  Violet  ?" 

"I  cannot,"  she  cried,  and  he  felt  the  shudder  that  passed 
over  her  frame.  "I  cannot,  Felix." 

"  Have  you  ceased  to  love  me,  Violet  ?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"  No  !"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  do  forgive  me,  Felix  !  I  wish  I 
had  !" 

"  You  still  care  for  me  ?"  he  asked. 

It  seemed  some  relief  to  her  to  cry  out  ,that  she  did  care 
for  him ;  to  lay  her  golden  head  on  his  breast,  and  moan 
out  that  she  wished  she  were  dead.  His  whole  face  bright- 
ened and  changed  as  he  heard  the  words. 

"You  still  care  for  me,  my  darling,"  he  said,  gently; 
"  why,  then,  Violet,  matters  must  come  right  in  the  end. 
This  dark  hour  will  pass,  and  happiness  will  dawn  upon 
us." 

So  she  lay  sobbing  near  the  noble  heart  she  was  break- 
ing, while  the  wind  wailed  round  them  with  a  strange, 
mournful  sound. 

Violet  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  raised  her  lovely  face 
all  wet  with  tears. 

"You  do  not  understand,  Felix,"  she  said,  quietly.  "I  do 
love  you  ;  that  makes  my  cowardice  all  the  greater.  I  love 
you,  but  I  can  never  marry  you,  because  you  cannot  give 
me  that  which  my  soul  loves  best. " 

"  But  what  if  I  do  give  it  to  you,  Violet ;  what  then?"  he 
asked. 

"  You  cannot ;  you  must  work  all  your  life  even  for  the 
moderate  means  that  you  will  have.  Do  not  talk  any 
more  about  it.  Felix,  my  resolution  is  fixed  as  are  th~ 
stars  in  heaven ;  nothing  can  alter  it,  nothing  can  change 
it.  We  have  made  a  mistake." 

And  for  the  first  time  during  that  interview  it  dawned 
across  him  that  it  was  no  girlish  caprice  he  had  to  contend 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  121 

with,  no  idle  whim,  but  the  settled  resolve  of  a  woman  in 
whose  heart  love  took  a  secondary  place. 

Looking  at  her  exquisite  face  he  asked  himself  what  if 
all  this  time  he  had  been  mistaken,  if  he  had  given  this 
beautiful  woman  credit  for  a  noble  soul  and  a  tender  heart, 
while  she  had  neither?  Such  things  had  been;  men  h;ui 
made  even  greater  mistakes  than  that.  What  if  she  were 
worldly  and  selfish,  false  and  pleasure-loving,  even  to  the 
core  of  her  heart?  Could  any  one  so  fair  be  so  false  '.  Could 
an  ignoble  soul  live  in  a  beautiful  body?  He  looked  at 
her;  her  most  fair  and  lovely  face  was  all  stained  with 
tears.  Was  such  a  contradiction  possible  as  that  she  should 
willfully  give  him  up,  yet  weep  because  she  had  lost  him, 
that  she  should  separate  herself  from  him,  refuse  t<» 
marry  him,  yet  weep  because  he  was  lost  to  her?  He  did 
not  turn,  as  some  men  would  have  done,  and  ask  himself, 
u  Who  shall  understand  a  woman?"  He  tried  patiently  to 
understand  her. 

"  Violet,  you  puzzle  me,"  he  said.  "Let  me  understand ; 
you  love  me,  you  say?" 

She  sobbed  out  that  she  could  not  help  it. 

"You  love  me.  yet  you  willfully  break  your  promise  to 
marry  me.  You  send  me  away  of  your  own  free  will,  not 
because  you  do  not  love  me,  but  because  I  have  not  money 
enouirh.  Is  that  it,  Violet?" 

She  did  not  deny  it;  it  was  the  exact  truth.  He  con- 
tinued : 

"You  love  me,  and  I  am  what  you  call  poor.  You  send 
me  Qway,  and  a  richer  man  comes.  You  will  marry  him 
bec.-msc  he  is  rich;  you  will  marry  him  for  his  money 
while  you  love  me.  Violet  Haye,  do  you  know  what  the 
law  of' Cod  calls  such  a  sin?  Do  you  think  your  weak 
subterfuge  of  calling  this  crime  of  yours  'changing  your 
mind' will  hold  good  when  you  are  judged  for  your  ac- 
tions,  and  the  just  award  is  «iven  to  you?  What  is  murder, 
Violet  Have?  If  that  white  hand  of  yours  had  thrust  a 
sword  into  my  heart,  you  would  have  slain  me  no  less 
cruelly  than  ^ on  have  killed  me  now.'' 

He  'pot  her  from  him  with  a  bitter  cry — a  cry  that 
haunted  her  for  long  years. 

u  You  lia.ve  slain  the  best  p.art  of  me;  you  have  slain  my 
love,  my  hope;  and  before  the  great  .Jud-el  shall  aeeiise 
you  of  'my  murder,  Violet  Have.  I  shall  ask  for  the  hope, 
the  love,  the  life  you  have  taken.  1  shall  point  to  von.  and 
I  shall  cry  out  that  you  slew  me  because  you  loved  the 


122  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

gold  I  could  not  give  you.  Before  Heaven,  you  have  slain 
me!" 

His  despair  frightened  her ;  she  drew  nearer  to  him,  and 
tried  to  soothe  him,  but  he  would  not  let  her  hands  touch 
him. 

"You  are  not  worth  a  man's  thought,  you  are  not  worth 
a  man's  love,"  he  cried,  "you  who  have  slain  the  truest  of 
love.  Do  not  touch  me.  It  is  such  women  r.s  you  who 
lure  men  on  to  death,  who  take  a  man's  heart  and  crush  it 
like  a  rose-leaf.  No,  do  not  touch  me,  Violet ;"  for  she 
clung  to  him,  weeping  and  crying  out  that  he  was  too  hard 
upon  her,  too  hard. 

"•  No,  I  am  not  hard,"  he  said.  "To  my  mind  there  is  but 
one  kind  of  love,  and  the  soul  of  it  is  truth.  I  do  not  under- 
stand such  love  as  yours.  Oh,  Violet,  once  more  let  me 
appeal  to  you  and  warn  you.  Dear,  you  are  all  wrong,  all 
wrong,  and  you  will  find  it  out  too  late.  Believe  me, 
Heaven  has  so  made  woman  that  to  her  the  chief  good  is 
love  ;  to  her  love  is  religion  and  life.  Are  you  of  a  differ- 
ent nature  that  you  can  dispense  with  love  ?" 

u  It  would  not  make  me  happy,"  she  answered,  in  a  low 
voice. 

So  you  think,  dear,  in  the  pride  of  youth  and  beauty ; 
but,  believe  me,  though  you  may  win  the  wealth  you 
prize  so  highly,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  be  ready 
to  surrender  it  all  for  love,  and  you  shall  not  find  it.  Re- 
member my  words  ;  you  will  long  for  the  love  you  now 
throw  away  ;  you  will  live  to  curse  your  own  folly  in  giving 
up  the  substance  for  the  shadow." 

Her  tears  fell  while  she  listened  silently  to  words  that 
haunted  her  forever.  His  voice  softened  as  he  went  on. 

"You  will  no:  be  young  and  beautiful  always,  Violet. 
The  time  must  come  when  your  hair  will  have  lost  its 
golden  sheen  and  your  eyes  their  light.  What  will  wealth 
do  for  you  then?  12  sickness  comes  to  you,  will  all  the 
wealth  of  the  whole  world  purchase  for  you  the  tender 
touch  of  a  loving  hand  or  the  tender  words  of  a  loving 
voice?  You  will  live,  my  darling,  through  long  hours  of 
pain  thinking  of  me,  longing  for  me,  wondering  how  you 
could  have  been  so  mad  as  to  send  me  from  you,  crying 
out  my  name,  until  you  remember  that  to  love  me  is  a 
crime,  and  that  in  my  place  you  have  the  wealth  you  have 
chosen.  Think  of  the  long  days  when  you  will  miss  me. 
Ah,  Violet,  mind,  lest  in  breaking  my  heart  you  break  your 
own.  I  warn  you  that  you  cannot  live  without  love ;  hsed 
my  warning  before  it  is  too  late." 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  123 

She  made  him  no  answer.     1  fc  continued  : 

"I  can  sec  farther  into  the  future  than  you,  Violet,  and 
with  clearer  eyes.  I  prophesy  to  you  that  the  time  will 
come  when  yon  will  repent  of  what  you  are  doing  no\v,  and 
be  willing  to  give  your  whole  soul  to  undo  it.  Will  you 
heed  my  warning  '" 

Her   heart  went  out  to  him  in  love  and  pity ;  hut  there 
AVJIS   the   picture   before  her   of   (;-irswood — the  thought  of 
the  diamonds — of  herself  as  Lady  Chevenix. 
"  I  cannot,"  she  said. 

Ife  stood  quite  still  for  a  few  moments. 
u  Yon  forsake  me,  then,  for  a  richer  lover — you  give  up 
my  love  for  gold  '.  Say,  in  plain  words,  that  you  do  so :  do 
not  let  there  be  a  chance  of  mistake.  Violet — do  not  let  any 
false  halo  linger  round  your  memory  in  the  years  to  come. 
You  give  me  up  because  1  have  not  money  enough  '." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  but  the  word  came  slowly  and  with 
great  reluctance. 

"  I  shall  not  regret  you,  Violet — you  are  not  worth  re- 
gret," he  said,  but  she  cried  out: 

"Do  not  be  so  hard,  Felix;  I — I  am  weaker  than  a 
won;. 

-You  are,  indeed,"  he  said,  gravely.  "Some  women's 
weakness  is  half  divine  ;  yours  is — well,  I  will  give  it  no 
name;  I  know  none  that  describes  anything  one  half  so 
false." 

"You  are  very  hard,  Felix." 

He  laughed  'aloud,  and  pleasure-loving  Violet  Have 
wished  never  to  hear  such  another  laugh. 

"I  have  no  place  here  now,  Violet.  1  will  say  farewell. 
My  dear  love,  my  lost  love,  farewell.  Lay  your  sweet, 
cruel  hands  in  mine  onrc  again — let  me  look  into  your 
sweet,  false  face  once  more.  Farewell,  little  white  hands — 
you  v.  ill  caress  me  and  stab  me  no  more.  Farewell,  sweet 
-you  will  .look  no  more  into  mine.  Farewell,  golden 
head  -you  will  never  lie  on  my  breast  again— never  again. 
Farewell:  'Beauty  such  as  woman  never  wore,'  heart 
most  false,  love  most  cruel — farewell!" 

His  voice  died  away  in  a  low  wail  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  gone,  and  she  stood  there,  weeping  for  that  which 
she  could  never  recall. 

"How  cruel  fate  is!"  she  said.  "Hove  Felix.  Why 
could  Felix  not  have  Sir  Owen's  fortune?  1  almost  wish 
that  I  had  never  seen  Sir  Owen.  1  did  not  think  that  I 
should  care  about  Felix  so  much." 

It  was  something  new  to  the  spoiled,  petted  beauty  to 


124  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN, 

feel  pain — to  weep  without  being  comforted.  She  was  un- 
just enough  to  think  that  Felix  should  have  staid  to  com- 
fort  her — should  not  have  left  her  so  wretched. 

Then  she  realized  that  her  faithful  lover,  so  tender,  so 
true,  and  so  brave,  had  passed  out  of  her  life,  and  would 
be  nothing  to  her  for  all  time.  She  was  impatient  with  her 
own  misery — her  own  sorrow. 

"If  the  time  could  come  over  again,"  she  said,  "I  would 
not  do  it ;  I  would  marry  Felix,  let  him  be  poor  as  he 
might. " 

But  it  was  done  ;  it  was  all  over.  She  thought  to  herself 
that  with  such  a  lover  she  had  managed  well,  for  what  he 
had  said  was  true — many  a  man  had  taken  a  woman's  life 
for  less  provocation.  Now  she  was  free  from  all  ties — free 
to  marry  Sir  Owen — to  enjoy  wealth,  rank,  fashion,  dia- 
monds, and  everything  else — free  to  become  what  Sir  Owen 
promised  her — the  queen  of  the  county,  the  queen  of  fash- 
ion— free  to  trample  on  Lady  Eolfe  and  those  who  had 
sneered  at  her — free  to  go  her  own  way.  As  for  what  Felix 
had  said  about  her  being  branded,  what  nonsense  it  was  ! 
Girls  did  the  same  thing  every  day,  and  were  thought  none 
the  worse  for  so  doing.  True,  she  remembered  Mrs.*  Bar- 
don,  who  had  been  engaged  for  three  or  four  years  to  a 
young  officer  in  the  army,  and  who  had  jilted  him  (it  was 
such  an  ugly  word  that) — jilted  him  to  marry  a  wealthy 
landowner.  Her  husband  afterward  turned  out  to  be  one 
of  the  most  miserly  and  disagreeable  men  living.  Then, 
when  she  complained,  people  said  it  served  her  right ;  she 
should  not  have  broken  a  good  man's  heart. 

"But  my  story,"  thought  Violet  Haye,  "is  quite  different 
from  that.  I  look  more  like  one  born  to  be  Lady  Chevenix 
than  born  to  be  the  wife  of  a  poor,  struggling  lawyer. " 

She  was  not  very  angry  with  pretty  Jennie,  but  she 
warned  her  that  her  interview  with  Mr.  Lonsdale  must  be 
kept  a  secret.  She  believed  that  Felix  had  bribed  the  girl 
— not  that  the  girl  had  told  Felix. 

It  was  just  as  well,  she  thought,  that  the  interview  had 
taken  place ;  there  must  have  been  a  scene  some  time  or 
other.  Now  the  matter  was  all  settled,  and  she  could  go  to 
London  with  a  mind  free  from  all  anxiety.  The  grandeur 
awaiting  her  there  must  surely  comfort  her,  for  her  heart 
ached*  for  Felix — his  burning,  stinging  words  haunted  her. 

Who  should  dare  say  that  on  that  white  brow  of  hers  was 
branded  "  liar  ?"  Felix  would  be  dreadfully  distressed  when 
he  heard  of  her  marria,ge.  She  knew  that  he  would  feel  it 
most  keenly ;  but  then  after  a  time  he  would  forget  it — no 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAX.  125 

one  would  bear  animosity  against  the  young  and  charming 
Lady  Chevenix.  When  she  came  back  again  she  and  Felix 
would  be  friends.  She  would  make  overtures  of  friendship 
to  him,  and  he  would  not  decline  them ;  he  had  always 
been  so  fond  of  her — poor  Felix  ! 

So  she  went  away  the  next  day  to  London,  trying  to 
forgot  the,  past  and  to  think  of  the  future.  She  did  not 
care  to  remember  that  morning  found  her  pillow  wet 
ivith  tears,  for  she  had  been  dreaming  of  Felix. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  WORLD  A  BATTLE-FIELD. 

Felix  Lonsdale  had  tried  his  best ;  he  had  done  hard  bat- 
tle with  his  sorrow — the  sorrow  that  had  come  to  him 
while  the  summer  moon  was  shining  and  the  corn 
ripe  in  the  fields.  He  had  done  hard,  fierce,  terrible  battle 
with  it.  It  stood  there  ever  by  his  side  ;  no  one  had  de- 
I  it  yet — its  presence  was  a  secret  from  every  one  ex- 
cept himself.  It  stood  by  the  table,  and  made  the  sight  of 
all  food  loathsome  to  him;  it  stood  by  his  books  and 
papers,  and  its  dark  shadows  made  them  all  illegible  to 
liiin — he  read  no  words  save  these — that  Violet  was  i'alse  to 
him:  it  stood  by  his  pillow  and  would  not  let  him  sleep  ; 
it  came  between  him  and  the  brightness  of  earth — bet 
him  and  the  mercy  of  Heaven.  He  was  stunned,  da/ed, 
and  bewildered  by  it;  still  he  did  brave  battle  with  it,  He 
looked  at  the  invalid  father,  at  the  kindly  mother,  at  the 
"army"  of  little  ones;  there  was  work  to  do,  and  he  must 
do  it.  The  home  must  be  kept  up,  business  attended  to  ; 
money  must  be  made,  the  home  mu,st  not  be  neglected. 
Indulgence  in  sorrow  was  not  a  luxury  for  him. 

Hi-    hardened   his  heart;  he    said  that  there  was    neither 

mercy  nor  kindness  nor  love  in  the  world.     He  could   not 

ie  kindly  look  in  Katie's  tender  eyes;  lie   would  not 

the  children's  laces;  when  the  Sabbath  bells  chimed 

lie    we.;t    miles   away.     Fate   had   been  cruel    to   him,  ho 

would    harden    himself;  he  would  be  proud  and  stern,  cold 

and  unbending — he  would  give  back  what  he  had   received. 

So    hour    by  hour   and   day   by  day  he   hardened  his  heart, 

hardened    his   nature,    and   only   Heaven   knew    what    he 

suffered. 

Within  a  week  after  his  farewell  to  Violet  the  handsome 
face  had  grown  so  h-i^-anl  that  it  wras  hardly  reco^ni/able  ; 
the  kindly  eyes  had  a  w,:d,  weird  e  .hough  he 


126  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

were  always  suffering  mortal  pain — the  ring  had  gone 
from  his  voice,  from  his  laugh ;  he  was  an  altered  man. 
How  he  worked  !  He  said  to  himself  that  work  was  the 
only  thing  which  could  keep  him  from  going  mad. 

But  it  told  upon  him — no  food,  no  sleep,  no  rest  would 
he  take — this  constant  warfare  that  kept  every  nerve 
strained.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  once  gave  way,  even 
if  only  for,  a  moment — if  he  opened  his  heart  to  the  dread- 
ful sorrow  waiting  to  be  admitted — if  he  closed  his  eyes  in 
rest — he  must  die.  Colder  and  harder  and  prouder  he 
grew,  shutting  himself  and  his  sorrow  in  icy  reserve  ;  and 
at  last  Kate  grew  so  miserable  about  him  that  she  sent  for 
Evelyn. 

"I  must  talk  to  you,  Eve,"  she  said,  "or  my  heart  will 
break.  I  do  not  like  to  distress  my  husband — he  is  ill 
enough ;  and,  if  Felix  goes  on  like  this  much  longer,  he  will 
have  a  terrible  illness,  or  he  will  die.  What  is  the  matter 
with  him,  Eve  ?  He  does  not  eat  or  sleep  ;  he  looks  like  a 
man  who  has  been  stunned ;  he  grows  so  hard  and  cold  that 
I  am  almost  afraid  of  him.  He  does  not  open  his  heart  to 
me,  he  avoids  me,  he  does  not  even  look  at  me — he  who 
used  to  love  me  so,  well.  What  is  the  matter  with  him, 
Eve?" 

Eve  looked  very  pale  and  sad,  her  sweet  face  was 
clouded  ;  but  Kate,  in  her  distress,  did  not  notice  it. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  is  the  matter,"  she  replied.  "I 
heard  it  this  afternoon.  Violet  Haye  has  gone  to  London 
^to  be  married." 

Kate  cried  out  that  it  was  impossible — that  it  could  not 
be — Violet  Haye  was  betrothed  to  Felix. 

"It  is  so,"  said  Eve — "Aunt  Jane  told  me  about  it  this 
afternoon ;  and,  fearing  you  would  be  in  great  trouble,  I 
came  to  you  at  once.  Violet  broke  off  her  engagement  with 
Felix  some  short  time  since,  and  she  is  gone  to  London  to 
be  married." 

"Married  to  whom?"  cried  Kate,  in  hot  anger  for  her 
boy's  sake. 

"  I  do  not  know — she  has  so  many  admirers,  but  I  believe 
it  is  some  very  rich  man.  Mrs.  Haye  is  almost  wild  with 
excitement  about  it.  She  told  my  aunt  the  day  before  they 
started. "  And  then,  remembering  how  Felix  loved  Violet, 
they  both  wept  together. 

"  I  understand  it  all  now,"  said  Kate.  "  My  poor  boy  has 
hidden  it  from  us  lest  we  should  know  what  he  suffered. 
Evelyn,  does  Heaven  punish  treachery  '." 

"I  am  afraid  so."  she  replied,  gently.     "You  say  that 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  127 

Felix  has  grown  hard  and  cold.     Tell  me  where  he  is,  that 
I  may  go  and  see  him." 

"He  is  at  the  office,"  replied  Mrs.  Lonsdale.  "Do  go  to 
him,  Eve.  He  was  always  fond  of  you — he  always  trusted 
y<>u.  Go  and  try  if  you  can  comfort  him." 

A   slight  shadow  of  pain  came  over  the  sweet  face — it 
-.'d  in  a  minute. 

••  Yes,"  she  said,  thoughtfully,  "he  always  trusted  me.  I 
Avill  p>  an<l  see  what  I  can  do  for  him." 

Fve  walked  gently  through  the  warm,  sunlit  streets. 
Many  looked  after  her  as  she  went  on  her  mission  of  mercy 
— after  the  tall,  graceful  figure  in  the  simple  muslin  d 
the  plain,  pretty  hat  with  the  broad  brim.  On  her  fair, 
sweet  face,  as  she  walked  along,  thinking  what  she  should 
>  him,  a  beautiful  light  shone. 

She  went  into  the  office  without  any  announcement — she 
had  done  so  since  she  was  a  child.  Only  Felix  sat 
there,  his  pale,  haggard  face  bent  over  his  papers,  a  shadow 
like  death  in  his  eyes.  He  looked  up  in  wonder  at  his 
visitor.  Eve.  with  her  sweet  face,  and  the  strange  light 
upon  it,  looked  like  an  angel  come  to  minister  to  him. 

"  Kvelyn,"  he  said,  "you  are  an  unexpected  visitor." 

She  went  round  to  him,  and  stood  by  the  side  of  his 
chair. 

••  Fdix,"  she  said,  "I  know  what  has  happened,  and  I 
am  eome  to  comfort  you." 

"  ( 'oinfort !  'Comfort  scorned  of  devils,'  the  poet  sings. 
Fve."  he  laughed,  "what  comfort  can  you  give  me?" 

She  took  the  papers  from  his  hands,  and  was  startled  on 
that  warm  day  to  find  his  tinkers  as  cold  as  death.  She 
held  them  in  her  own — her  sweet  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

••  Kelix,  you  must  not  harden  your  heart  against  me, 
dear.  You  must  not  keep  me  outside  it.  We  have  h. -en 
such  true  friends — such  dear  friends  always.  Do  not  be 
hard  and  cold  and  proud  with  me,  dear  friend." 

"I  will  not,  Eve,"  he  returned,  gently.  "Heaven  bless 
you,  I 

"Listen   to  me  a  little  while,  Felix,"  she  said,  and   her 

voin-   stole   like   a  strain  of  sweetest  music  over  his  tired 

8.      "No    man    ean    know   a  greater  sorrow    than  this 

sorrow  of  yours.     The   one   yon    loved  and  trusted  has  de- 

ceiv-d  yon.      Violet  has  been  false  to  you." 

He  shrank  back  with  a  cry  at  the  sound  of  the  words. 
She  (inly  elasped  his  hands  the  ni"re  tightly. 

"Never  mind  the  pain,  velix."  she  said.  "It  is  right 
that  you  should  accustom  yourself  to  hear  the  words,  and 


128  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

not  shrink  from  them.  Violet  has  proved  false  to  you.  I 
know  how  you  love  her,  and  I  know  that  the  words  cut 
like  a  sharp  knife. " 

"It  is  true,  Eve,1'  he  told  her,  in  a  low  voice — "it  is  quite 
true.  She  has  forsaken  me. " 

''It  is  a  terrible  sorrow,11  she  said — "no  greater  sorrow 
could  have  befallen  you ;  but,  Felix,  do  not  let  it  harden 
you.  People  treat  the  visitation  of  sorrow  so  unwisely. 
Some,  when  SOITOAV  falls  to  their  lot,  harden  their  hearts, 
shut  all  tenderness,  all  love,  all  affection  away  from  them. 
They  change  their  whole  natures.  To  such  persons  God's 
dealing  comes  as  a  curse,  not  a  blessing." 

"Such  sorrow  as  mine  must  be  a  curse,  "he  returned, 
sadly. 

u  By  no  means.  You  know  the  old  saying,  '  Sorrows  are 
but  blessings  in  disguise. '  Who  can  say  in  after  years 
what  guise  their  sorrow  may  wear  ?" 

"  But  I  loved  her  so  dearly,  Eve ;  and  I  have  lost  her, "  she 
said. 

u  I  know  that  you  loved  her ;  but,  Felix,  has  there  never 
been  a  mistaken  love  ?  Have  you  never  heard  of  a  man 
idealizing  a  woman,  and  worshiping  in  her  virtues  that 
she  never  possessed?  The  very  fact  that  Violet  could  prove 
false  to  you  proves  also  that  she  wras  unworthy  of  your 
love,  that  you  thought  her  possessed  of  qualities  quite 
foreign  to  her,  and  that  she  is  not  worth  all  this  passion  of 
regret. " 

"  I  loved  her."  was  all  he  answered. 

"  I  know,  dear  friend — I  know" — and  Evelyn's  voice  was 
sweet  as  the  cooing  of  a  dove — "and  it  is  a  terrible  grief  to 
you.  Felix,  because  we  are  such  dear  and  true  friends,  I 
am  come  to  talk  to  you  about  this  sorrow.  There  are 
three  ways  in  which  men  must  sorrow.  The  weaker  part 
of  them  fly  at  once  to  drink,  to  dissipation,  to  a  reckless 
kind  of  despair;  they  have  no  nobility.  You  are,ai>r>ve 
that.  Others  harden  themselves;  they  shut  out  all  love 
and  sympathy  from  their  hearts ;  they  grow  cold  and 
proud,  so  that  no  kindly  influence  reaches  them.  Others 
— and,  dea,r  friend,  believe  me,  these  are  the  noble  ones — 
accept  sorrow  as  a  part  of  the  discipline  of  life,  as  a  gift 
sent  from  Heaven ;  and,  while  they  accept  it  with  hu- 
mility, they  bear  it  with  dignity.  It  makes  them  nobler, 
grander,  and  better.  It  is  an  education  that  prepares  them 
for  heaven.  Which  of  the  three  classes  will  you  join, 
Felix  ?" 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  129 

"The  last,  if  I  can,  Eve,"  he  said,  slowly.  He  looked 
at  th<>  light  on  her  fair  face. 

"Believe  me,"  she  went  on,  earnestly,  "we  shall  not 
know,  until  we  come  to  die,  what  great  sorrows  do  for 
us,  .-Hid  then  we  shall  thank  Heaven  for  them.  There  is 
something  weak  and  cowardly  in  the  idea  of  being  1> 
by  any  trouble.  This  world  is  a  battle-field,  and  we  must 
fight  nobly;  the  temptation  to  yield  weakly  to  a  great 
grief  is  one  of  the  hardest  that  comes  to  us.  It  would  be 
so  much  easier  for  you,  Felix,  to  lie  down  and  die  than  to 
do  battle  day  by  day,  and  so  have  to  live  your  sorrow 
down/1 

"Yes,  it  would,  Eve,"  he  replied. 

u  A  soul  that  has  never  suffered  is  but  a  puny  soul,"  she 
said;  "the  strong  and  noble  soul  is  the  one  that  passes 
through  the  furnace  of  fire  and  comes  out  pure  gold — not 
metal  or  gold  with  an  alloy — but  pure,  refined,  true 
gold.  The  mystery  is  why  men  and  women  must  all  suM'er  ; 
•but  that  we  shall  never  fathom;  we  only  know  that  'God 
sends  pain— «-ven  to  his  best  beloved  He  sends  pain.'  ' 

Something  in  the  brave  face  and  the  brave,  patient  voice 
touched  him.  He  looked  up  at  her  suddenly, 

•"Surely.  Eve,"  he  said,  "you  have  had  110  sorrow  that 
you  should  speak  in  such  a  fashion?" 

She  smiled,  and  he  thought  how  like  her  face  was  to  that 
of  pictured  angels. 

"  5T.es,"  sLie  said,  "I  have  a  great  sorrow ;  but  it  is  dumb 
— it  will  never  find  a  voice — it  will  die  with  me,  and  be 
buried  in  my  grave." 

"What  has  your  sorrow  done  for  you,  Eve  ?"  he  asked, 
after  a  time. 

Again  came  the  beautiful  light  on  the  sweet  face. 

"  It  has  opened  my  heart,"  she  replied,  "it  has  killed  ah 
self  love,  it  has  made  me  love  and  pity  every  one  who  has 
suffered,  it  lias  taught  me  that  life  is  but  short,  and  that 
heaven  is  my  true  home." 

"It  shall  teach  me  the  same,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  help 
me,  Eve.  I  loved  her  so  dearly  that  my  loss  has  almost 
killed  me." 

His  pride  and  self-control  gave  way — he  sobbed  like  a 
child. 

"My  dear  old  friend  !"  said  Eve,  and,  as  simply  as  a  child 
might  have  done  it,  she  drew  his  head  upon  her  arm,  and 
the  first  tears  he  shed  over  the  great  sorrow  of  his  life  fell 
on  her  kindly  ministering  hands. 


18«  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"WHY  THIS  MERRY  CHIME  TO-DAY?" 

From  that  day  a  change  came  over  Felix  Lonsdale ;  he 
went  home  even  that  same  evening  an  altered  man ;  he 
opened  his  heart  to  the  love  and  sympathy  that  Katie 
showed  him.  The  proud,  stern  coldness  fell  from  him — 
he  took  the  children  in  his  arms  and  kissed  the  little  faces. 
He  said  to  himself  that  children  of  his  own  would  never 
climb  his  knees — children  of  his  own  would  never  gladden 
his  heart. 

He  did  not  suffer  less,  but  it  was  ia  another  fashion  now. 
He  wrorked  harder  than  ever ;  he  said  to  himself  that  if  it 
were  possible  he  would  drown  his  sorrow  in  the  hardest 
work  he  could  find.  And  yet  he  did  not  know  the  worst ; 
he  only  knew  that  Violet  had  broken  her  promise,  and  de- 
clared it  impossible  to  marry  him  ;  he  had-  not  the  faintest 
notion  that  there  was  really  any  wealthy  lover  at  hand.  He 
believed  firmly  that  her  parents  had  talked  to  her  and 
argued  with  her  until  she  had  been  overruled  by  them. 
Still  at  Lilford — all  but  himself — knew  that  Violet  was 
going  to  marry  Sir  Owen ;  it  had  been  kept  quite  secret  for 
some  time,  but  now  the  day  was  fixed — the  fourteenth  of 
September — and  there  could  no  longer  be  any  secrecy. 

The  whole  place  was  in  a  ferment  over  it.  There  wa«c 
to  be  a  grand  dinner  given  to  all  the  tenants,  to  all  the 
servants  and  dependents ;  and  the  bell-ringers  had  been  told 
how  many  times  a  merry  peal  was  to  be  rung  on  the  old 
church  bells,  in  honor  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  The 
only  persons  who  knew  nothing  of  all  this  were  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Vale  House — the  invalid  father  who  saw  no  one 
but  the  doctor  and  Eve  Lester,  the  kindly ,  industrious 
young  step-mother,  and  the  young  lover  himself.  No  one 
cared  to  speak  to  them  on  such  a  subject,  and  they  were 
the  last  to  hear  it.  Even  Evelyn,  who  never  shrank  from 
trouble,  shrank  from  speaking  to  them  about  it. 

Felix  wondered  one  night,  when  she  came  to  Vale  House, 
why  she  was  so  kind,  so  tender  and  compassionate  to  him, 
why  she  hovered  round  him  like  a  mother  over  a  sick  child. 
why  she  spoke  such  low,  earnest  words  to  him — so  noble, 
HO  beautiful,  that  his  whole  soul  was  stirred  by  them. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  13* 

"Felix,"  she  said,  "listen  to  this.  It  is  a  verse  I  read 
last  night  in  a  poem  by  Adelaide  Anne  Procter.  I  copied 
it  to  read  to  you  because  I  thought  it  so  beautiful."  She 
was  sitting  by  his  side  in  the  attitude  that  painters  of  old 
gave  to  guardian  angels,  so  full  of  love  and  protection.  In 
her  sweet,  clear  voice  she  read  to  him : 

"  Who  is  the  angel  that  coineth  ? 

Pain  ! 
Let  us  arise  and  go  forth  to  greet  him  ; 

Not  in  vain 
Is  the  summons  come  for  us  to  meet  him. 

He  will  stay 
And  darken  our  nun  ; 

He  will  stay 

A  desolate  night,  a  weary  day, 
Since  in  that  shadow  our  work  is  done, 
And  in  that  shadow  our  crowns  are  won. 
Let  us  say  still  while  his  bitter  chalice 
Slowly  into  our  hearts  is  poured — 
Blessed  is  he  that  cometh 
In  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  he  said,  when  the  sweet  voice 
ceased — it  was  as  though  a  strain  of  solemn  music  liad 
died  away — Tt  very  beautiful.  I  shall  remember  the  angel 
of  pain,  and  show  him  a  brave  face,  I  hope,  when  he  comes. 
But  tell  me  why  you  speak  to  me  in  this  strain  to-night? 
It  may  be  only  my  fancy,  but  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  on 
the  face  of  every  man  and  woman  I  have  met  to-day  1  have 
read  pity ;  it  must  be  fancy,  but  it  seems  to  me  so  strange.'' 

She  could  have  told  him  that  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  Lilford  knew  that  on  the  morrow  Violet  JIaye 
was  to  marry  Sir  Owen.  She  could  have  told  him  also  that 
there  was  none  among  them  who  did  not  feel  sorry  for  him 
and  indignant  with  her. 

"I  had  almost  begun  to  fear  that  there  was  something 
fresh  concerning  that  unfortunate  will,"  he  said,  "people 
have  been  so  strange  with  me.  It  cannot  be  my  love 
no  one  knows  that.  People  all  know,  of  course,  that.  Violet 
has  gone  away  to  London ;  but  I  do  not  think  any  one  out 
of  our  own  household  knows  that  she  has  broken  with  me." 

Eve  could  not  tell  him;  she  could  help  him.  she  eould 
strengthen  his  heart  and  his  mind,  but  she  could  not  look 
at  him  and  say,  "To-morrow  will  be  Violet's  wedding- 
day."  She  turned  away  sick  at  heart  when  she  remem- 
bered the  treachery,  the  cruelty,  and  the  deceit-  sick  at 
heart  that  she  could  not  take  the  whole  burden  upon  her- 
self, and  suffer  for  him.  She  was  brave  enough,  but  she 


132  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 


could  not  say  to  him,  "The  girl  for  love  of  whom  you  are 
leaking  yoJr  heart  thinks  so  little  of  you-so  little  of  your 
pain-that  she  is  going  to  marry  to-morrow  the  man 
above  all  others  whom  you  dislike. 

She  talked  to  him  again  in  the  same  strain-of  the  gran- 
deur and  nobility  of  sorrow,  the  bravery  of  bearing  pain 
the  cowardice  of  falling  under  -  burden  ;  and  then,  v,  hen 
she  left  him,  she  whispered  to  Katie  : 

"Be  very  kind  to  him  to-morrow,  madre.     He  will  stand 

S°But  eveTKate  did  not  dream  what  the  words  meant. 

The  harvest  moon  that  night  shone  down  upon  many 
different  scenes.     It  crept  into  a  superb  room  ^  London 
where  Sir  Owen,  flushed  with  love  and  wine,  told  with 
many  an  oath  to  a  choice  circle  of  friends  how  he  had  out- 
witted the  lawyer  and  carried  off  his  bride. 

"I  shall  have  some  fine  amusement  with  him  when  I  re- 
turn to  Garswood,"  he  said.  "  He  must  have  been  as  vain 
a£  Narcissus  himself  to  think  that  any  girl  would  prefer 

hiSis°frieends  drank  his  costly  wines  and  applauded  him- 
each  ignoble  sentiment,  each  mean  idea-until  they  could 
do  so  no  longer.  . 

The  moon  looked  in  at  another  window—  the  window  o 
ma^ent  chamber,  wherein  lay  all  the  details  of  a  superb 
bridal  costume—  a  lace  vail  of  priceless  value,  a  wreath  of 
SSSe5fflSTwhite  satin  shoes,  and  white  gloves,  with 
a  drSs  that  was  a  triumph  of  art.  It  shone  on  a  pretty 
white  bed  whereon  a  young  girl  lay-on  golden  hair  that 

rni  all  disheveled  and  lying  in  silken  profusion  over  the 
Sow-on  a  far  and  beautiful  face  all  stained  with  tears  ; 
for  on  tiSs  evening  something  like  rerno^e  had  come  to 
Violet  Have,  and  she  had  wept  with  a  wild  cry  for  ti 
whom  she  had  bartered  for  gold.  Even  the  diamonds  the 
Ss2?  gems,  the  rich  dresses,  the  wealth  and  grandeur  for 
which  Ihe  had  sold  herself,  had  not  P<^  ^  eooftehg. 
ThP  same  moon  shone  into  the  room  where  Eve  l^estei 
Selt  he?  to  face  raised  to  the  evening  skies  praying 
Heaven  to  help  the  man  she  loved  through  the  bitter  hour 
of  his  pain  and  desolation.  It  shone  into  the  room  where 
Felix  sat  writing  because  he  could  not  sleep  and  L  ™  un 
able  to  find  rest  in  anything  except  work, 


™u  eyes  cou.d  see  no  longe, 

and  then  he  put  away  his  papers.    He  had  business  for  the 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  13» 

morrow,  and,  if  he  could  not  sleep,  he  said  to  himself  that 
he  might  close  his  eyes  and  think  of  that. 

He   went  to  the  office  early  the  next  morning,   and   it 
struck  him  that  there  was  an  unusual  stir  in  tin'  streets.  A 
band   of  music  passed  him.      He   saw   tin1   people, 
dressed,  all  going  in  the  same  direction.     He  wondei 
there  was  n  ffti>  anywhere,  or  any  fair  that  he  h 
ten.     It  was  the  fourteenth  of  September — no,  he  could  not 
remember   that   it   differed  from  any  other   day.      II 
that    it  was  a  very  lovely  morning-;  there  was   bright   sun- 
shine, a  sweet  western  wind,  while  all  nature  looked  blithe 
and  gay;  still  he  could  not  understand  the  commotion  in 
the  to\v:i. 

He   went  into  his  office — even  the  clerk  was  nor  there. 
Without  loss  of  time  he  went  to  work  busily  at  hi 
Ha!     Surely  he  was  not  mistaken  as  to  the  chime  of  the 
old  church  bells — surely  they  were  chiming  not  an  < 

•hime — surely  he  heard*  a  burst  of  jubilant  melody,  a 
clang  of  joyful  sound:  He  opened  the  window,  and  the 
rich  waves  of  sound  came  in  upon  the  sunlit  air. 

"It  is  like   the  sound  of  wedding-bells,"  he  thought  to 
If,  "but  no  one  has  been  married  from  ! 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  the   handsonn 
ing  face   leaning  from  the  window,  listenii 
were  ringing  his  death-knell. 

He  said  to  himself  thai  it  was  no  business  of  h; 
must  go  on  with  his  work  ;  he  should  know  durii: 
why    the  bells   were   rung.     He    went   to  his  {.aj 
but  it  was  impossible  to  write  ;  the  air   was  full 
the  gay,  sweet  chime  rang  out   everymoment 

-    though    a    thousand 
•re  flitting  around    him.     Thei 
the   bell-ringing   could    n 
•uld  not  work    with  that  mad.  men 
air  ;   but  lie  could  go  ;»:id  ask  what  i<  all  meant. 

It    1 

vicar'a    wife,  Mrs.    Hunter.     11  !ier  wh> 

were    ringing;    and,  as  she   looked  at  him,  1. 

With    te; 

"Thev  ring  for  so  many  things,"  sh 
tell  which  it  i 

d  on,  nut.  i  '*  at 

him  closely,  while  -.mething  like  p  '"  1"'1'  ! 

autiful  worn. 

.   h,  i>eit.     "1  would  not  h. 
a  thing." 


134  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Felix  thought  her  strange — but  he  had  almost  ceased  to 
wonder  at  anything.  Then  he  met  his  old  friend,  Doctor 
Ludlow.  He  stopped  and  spoke  to  him. 

"I  ought  to  be  very  busy  with  my  work,"  he  said,  "but 
those  bells  distract  me.  I  have  had  to  put  away  my  writ- 
ing. What  are  they  ringing  for,  doctor  ?" 

And  the  kind-hearted  doctor  looked  sadly  at  him. 

"  Have  you  not  heard  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No — I  hear  so  little — I  am  so  busy  always.  What  is 
it  for?" 

Put  the  doctor  could  not  tell  him. 

"  Go  as  far  as  the  church, "  he  said,  "  the  walk  will  do 
you  good  this  beautiful  morning.  Ask  the  ringers — they 
are  sure  to  know." 

He  had  not  the  time  to  spare,  but  the  morning  was  fine, 
and  some  strange  instinct  that  he  could  not  account  for 
hurried  him  on. 

u  Why  are  you  ringing  this  merry  chime  to-day  ?"  he 
asked  of  one  of  the  ringers,  a  white-headed  old  man,  whose 
arms  were  wearied,  and  who  sat  resting  on  one  of  the  green 
graves. 

"  Why  ?  Because  the  great  Sir  Owen  is  married  to-day, 
Master  Lonsdale." 

"  Married  !"  cried  Felix.     "  Married  to  whom  ?" 

The  chiming  ceased,  and  the  wind  fell  as  the  old  man 
answered : 

"Married  to  Violet  Haye." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE     EARL'S     PROMISE. 

There  are  no  finer  woods  in  England  than  the  woods  that 
surround  Bramber  Towers.  Bramber  is  a  glorious  estate, 
and  the  woods  extend  to  Lilford.  They  form  the  massive 
background  of  trees  which  helps  to  render  the  old  church 
so  picturesque  and  artistic. 

The  Earl  of  Arlington,  master  of  the  Towers,  had  but  one 
fault  in  the  eyes  of  the  county — he  was  too  fond  of  travel- 
ing. It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  the  Towers  to  be  closed 
for  two  or  three  years,  while  the  earl,  with  his  wife  and 
daughter,  delighted  in  fair  Continental  cities.  It  was  the 
one  drawback  to  a  noble  character,  for  Lord  Arlington 
was  one  of  those  fortunate  men  who  are  born  with  a  keen 
sense  of  duty.  He  was  a  node!  landowner,  a  model  land- 
lord, a  model  country  gentleman.  When  he  was  at  the 


WEAKER  Til  AX  A    WOMAX.  135 

Towers  everything  was  sure  to  go  well ;  he  had  a  keen 
sense  of  justice — he  gave  himself  the  trouble  to  examine 
thoroughly  into  everything.  He  was  never  hasty,  impa- 
tient, or  unjust.  He  was  almost  idolized  in  the  county. 
Most  of  the  town  of  Lilford  belonged  to  him,  and  he  took  the 
greatest  possible  interest  in  the  place.  He  made  a  point  of 
attending  the  public  meetings;  he  would  have  justice — 
"Justice"  was  his  motto.  "Let  justice  he  done,  though 
the  heavens  fall''  was  a  favorite  quotation  of  his.  Woe  to 
any  man  who  tried  to  belie  another,  and  then  fell  into  his 
hands.  Woe  to  any  voter  who  trifled  with  1 

Lord  Arlington  was  a  straightforward,  honest,  honorable 
Englishman — all  devious  ways  and  tortuous  paths  were  un- 
known to  him.  It  was  always  observed  that  if  he  we: 
sent  for  any  length  of  time  things  went  wrong.  His  iirst 
concern  on  his  return  was  to  endeavor  to  set  them  right.  He 
had  been  nearly  three  years  tin's  time,  lingering  with  his 
beautiful  wife  and  daughter  in  the  quaint  cities  of  old  Spain. 
He  reached  home  on  the  eleventh  of  September,  and  he 
feared  that,  as  usual,  during  his  absence  much  had  gone 
wrong.  His  return  was  hardly  known  in  the  neighborhood, 
for  one  of  the  things  that  Lord  Arlington  disliked  was 
why  should  there  be  a  scene  every  time  he  returned? 
So  he  generally  kept  his  intention  secret. 

The  countess  was  a  beautiful,  quiet,  refined  woman.  One 
of  her  great  characteristics  was  lid-  sympathetic  manner 
She]..  that  keen  insight  into  the  hearts  and  teel- 

if  others  which  creates   sympathy.     It  was  natural  to 
her  to  feel  intensely  the  sorrows  and  joys  of  others.     Then- 
were   two    children— the    young    heir.  Lord    In-amber,  who 
was   still    at    Oxford,  and'  Lady  Maude  Uramber,  a    i 
girl  about  two  ye;irs  older  than  her  brother. 

Lady  Maude  inherited  her  mother's  peculiarly  sympa- 
thetic nature.  She  was  as  pitted  as  she  was  beautiful,  and 
the  one  thing  in  which  she  excelled  was  art.  She  would 
have  made  one  of  the  finest  painters  of  the  day  had  she 
not  been  an  earl's  daughter ;  as  it  vras,  her  picti 

iperior  to  those    ,,f    many  well-known  art !>ls.      It  was 
at  her  solicitation  that  Lord  Arlington  returned  home  that 
autumn.     She    bad  seen    the    finest    parts    of    Kurop, 
most  picturesque— the  most  beautiful;  but  there  \\as  noth- 
ing she  liked  better  than  the  line  old  woods  round  I'.ra 
and  she  loved  them  best  in  autumn,  when  the    leaves    were 
falling  and  the  glorious  tints  of  the  foliage  made   a    picture 
the  tints  of  which  could  not  be  transferred  to  ca: 

She  had   l.eg-ed   that   they  might  spend  the  autumn  at 


136  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

home,  for  the 'beauty  of  an  English  autumn  surpassed  any- 
thing which  they  could  see  abroad.  Her  wish  was  complied 
with,  as  is  the  wish  of  a  spoiled  child  often,  and  she  prom- 
ised herself  a  few  pleasant  months. 

She  set  out  one  morning  with  her  sketch-book  and  pen- 
cils. The  countess  suggested  that  she  should  take  a  maid 
or  a  footman  with  her— Lady  Maude  laughed. 

"  No  danger  lurks  in  our  English  woods,  mamma,  she 
said  "  If  I  were  in  Italy  or  Greece  I  might  meet  a  few 
brigands ;  here  at  Bramber  there  will  be  nothing  worse 
than  the  pretty  brown  hares  and  the  little  squirrels, 
could  not  sketch  at  my  ease  with  a  great  idle  man  waiting 
for  me." 

So  she  went  alone  into  the  Bramber  Woods.  She  wanted 
a  few  sketches  of  English  trees  in  their  ruby-tinted  autumn 
dress,  and  some  of  the  finest  in  England  grew  amid  the 
fern  and  bracken  in  the  Bramber  Woods.  She  had  no  fear 
—why  should  she  have  any  ?  The  sky  was  blue,  the  sun 
bright  and  warm,  the  air  full  of  music  and  song.  As  she 
entered  the  woods  she  fancied  that  she  heard  a  faint  chim- 
ing of  distant  bells. 

"They  are  the  bells  of  Lilford's  old  church,"  she  said  to 
herself ;  "  what  a  mellow,  rich  sound.  I  shall  not  hear  it 
presently." 

It  died  away  as  she  entered  the  beautiful  green  glades ; 
the  sound  could  not  penetrate  the  thick  masses  of  foliage. 

"I  want  oak,  ash,  and  elm,"  she  thought;  u and  here  I 
shall  find  all  three." 

There  was  a  broad,  open  space,  and  a  majestic  oak  spread 
out  its  great  branches  there.  It  was  like  a  little  kingdom 
in  itself,  this  wonderful  oak— a  great  green  kingdom  with 
a  life  all  its  own.  Near  it  stood  a  very  fine  elm,  and  in  the 
distance  She  saw  the  branches  of  a  fine  ash  tree.  Not  far 
from  here  was  a  pretty  little  brook,  so  clear  that  one  could 
see  the  pebbles  at  the  bottom  of  it ;  it  ran  with  a  sweet, 
musical  ripple  that  was  a  song  in  itself.  The  birds  were 
having  an  entertainment,  of  some  kind  in  the  green  king- 
dom of  leaves,  and  the  noise  they  made  over  it  was  con- 
tinuous. 

As  she  became  absorbed  in  the  keen  delight  ot  her 
sketching,  she  forgot  her  feathered  neighbors.  They  no 
longer  disturbed  her.  The  wind  sounded  like  an  vEohan 
harp  among  the  trees,  but  that  was  music  she  liked  ;  the 
merry  rabbits  hopped  among  the  bracken  and  fern,  the 
squirrels  played  among  the  spreading  boughs.  It  was  all 
so  still,  so  peaceful,  so  beautiful  that  she  thought  she  could 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  137 

sit  there  sketching  forever.  Once  she  was  disturbed ;  she 
fancied  that  from  the  long  western  glade  on  the  other  side 
of  her  there  came  the  sound  of  reckless  running  footsteps, 
and  then  of  a  heavy  fall,  but  after  a  moment  or  two  she 
concluded  that  it  was  only  the  rabbits. 

"They  are  having  a  steeplechase,"  she  said,  and  laughed 
at  the  idea;  then  the  pencil  trembled  in  her  finger 
surely  she  heard  the  sound  of  terrible  sobbing,  great  pas- 
sionate, bitter  sobs.    She  could  not  be  mistaken — they 
more  bitter  and  deep,  and  then  all  was  «till.     She  tried  to 
go  on  with  her  drawing,  but  her  hand  trembled — she  could 
not  persuade  herself  that  what  she   had  heard  was   fancy. 
Something  must  have  made  the  noise — she  would  go  and 

She  was  one  of  the  most  fearless  of  maidens ;  all  the  high 
courage  and  undaunted  bravery  of  her  rare  lived  in  her. 
She  put  her  drawing  materials  aside,  and  went  toward 
the  place  whence  the  sound  had  proceeded.  Her  heart  beat 
fast  when  she  saw  before  her  the  prostrate  figure  of  a 
man.  There  was  no  sobbing  now,  only  a  death-like  si! 
and  the  man  lay  with  his  face  downward.  She  did  not 
faint,  or  scream,  or  run  away,  but  she  listened  for  his 
breathing,  this  dainty  daughter  of  a  noble  race.  Was  ho 
dead?  Had  he  swooned  ?  Was  he  hurt '.  She  gr«-w  pale, 
and  trembled  when,  on  the  cool  green  grass,  sin-  de! 
stains  of  blood.  Once,  twin-  she  spoke  to  him.  and  then 
she  raised  his  head,  and  looked  into  his  face,  llow  : 
Bome  it  was— just  such  a  face  as  she  had  seen  given  to  a 
Greek  god — such  a  i'a<-e  as  she  had  seen  in  marble  in  tho 
dim  light  of  old  Roman  galleriea  Then  she  saw  th. 
the  temple,  so  while,  so  rounded,  so  full  of  ideality,  there 
was  a  terrible  wound.  A  moment's  reflection  showed  her 
what  the  wound  was.  .Ju.-t  above  him  was  the  branch  ol 
a  tree.  He  must  have  been  running  in  hot  ha-te,  ;m<l,  not 
seeing  the  branch  with  its  sharp,  jagged  ed-v.  hail  rua 
against  it.  He  had  fallen  there,  and  had  swooned,  proba- 
bly because  the  blow  had  stunned  him. 

What  a  handsome  face  it  was,  but   how    terribly  marked 
with  pain  !    What  did  all  those  irrcat  lines  mean  on  t!. 
brow  and  round,  beautiful  mouth  .'     Warm  pity  ami  1 
compassion  rose  in  her  heart  for  him.     She  laid  the 

'•lead    on    the    grass    again,  and    went    and  dipped    her 
handkerchief  in  the  brook.     She   laid  it  on  his  l»n.\\ 
bound  up  the  cruel,  gaping  wound,  and  she  looked    li' 

Of  compassion  bending  over  him.      Sudden!., 
great  relief,  lie  opened  his  eyes  and  gazed  at  her. 


138  WEAKER  THAX  A   WOMAN. 

"Violet!"  he  said. 

"I  am  not  Violet,"  she  replied. 

She  saw  his  whole  face  change. 

"  Oh,  Eve,  Eve, "  he  said,  u  you  told  me  of  the  angel  of 
pain,  but  the  trial  was  more  than  I  could  bear. " 

"I  am  not  Eve,1'  she  told  him,  gently,  but  from  the  dim, 
shadowed  look  in  his  eyes  she  knew  that  he  did  not  hear 
her. 

Gently  and  quietly,  with  softest  touch,  she  bathed  his 
hot  brow  with  the  cool  water  of  the  brook  until  she  saw 
that  his  senses  had  returned  to  him. 

"I  found  you  here,  badly  hurt,"  she  said. 

He  tried  to  rise,  but  he  was  quite  unable  to  stir.  She  laid 
Tier  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"No,  "she  said,  "you  must  not  try  to  stand — you  will 
feel  better  soon.  You  are  dazed  and  giddy — you  must  have 
struck  your  head  against  this  branch.  Where  were  you 
running  so  quickly  ?" 

"  Away  from  the  sound  of  the  bells,"  he  answered.  "I 
tnew  that  I  should  not  hear  them  in  the  depths  of  the 
Bramber  Woods." 

"  Did  they  distress  you  ?"  she  asked.  "  I  thought  them  so 
beautiful." 

"They  drove  me  mad — they  were  killing  me,"  he  re- 
plied. Then,  with  a  low  cry,  he  bent  his  face  toward  the 
long  grass. 

"  I  feel  sure  that  I  have  seen  you  before,"  she  said.  "  Do 
you  know  me  ?  I  am  Lady  Bramber ;  and  you — I  have 
seen  you  at  the  Towers.  Surely  you  are  Mr.  Felix  Lons- 
dale,  the  dear  old  lawyer's  son?" 

He  looked\at  her. 

"Yes,  I  am  Felix  Lonsdale,"  he  replied ;  "and  I  begin  to 
think  that  Heaven  has  placed  a  black  cross  against  my 
name.  I  ought  to  have  known  you,  Lady  Maude.  I  re- 
member you  now,  but  my  head  was  all  confused." 

"Your  face  is  quite  familiar  to  me, "  said  Lady  Maude. 
"  You  came  to  the  Towers  with  your  father — it  is  four 
years  since — and  you  took  luncheon  with  us.  I  showed  you 
some  of  my  drawings,  and  you  were  very  shy.  It  comes 
back  to  me  so  vividly.  But,  Mr.  Lonsdale,  why  were  you 
running  from  the  sound  of  those  bells  ?" 

She  saw  a  spasm  of  pain  pass  over  his  handsome  face ; 
his  lips  trembled. 

"Do  not  agitate  yourself,"  she  said,  kindly.  "Do  not 
tell  me  if  it  pains  you." 

"All  the  world — all  my  world — knows  it,"  he  replied.    "I 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  139 

will  tell  you,  Lady  Maude.  I  ran,  mad,  blind,  reckless, 
from  those  bells  because  they  are  chiming  in  honor  of  the 
marriage  of  the  girl  I  loved — the  girl  who  had  promised  to 
marry  me." 

••Surely,"  said  Lady  Maude,  with  a  light  breaking  over 
her  face,  "you  do  not  mean  your  pretty,  golden-haired 
sweetheart,  Violet  Haye  ?  Your  father  told  us  about  her 
t.iat  day  at  the  Towers." 

"  Yes ;  she  has  married  Sir  Owen  Chevenix  to-day,  and 
the  wedding-bells  were  driving  me  mad." 

"Poor  boy,"  said  Lady  Maude,  rather  to  herself  than  to 
him,  "I  am  not  surprised  at  it.  You  shall  not  tell  me 
about  it  now,"  added  Lady  Maude,  after  a  silence  of  some 
f-w  seconds.  " It  is  the  old  story,  I  suppose,  of  trust  and 
love,  folly  and  treachery.  Tell  me  of  your  home,  your 
r— I  was  always  very  fond  of  your  father.  How  is 

Sympathy  was  so  sweet.  They  were  sitting  under  the 
great  boughs  of  the  spreading  elm.  Lady  Maude's  just  and 
gentle  heart  ached  with  pity  for  him.  It  seemed  to  him 
such  relief  to  talk  to  her.  He  felt  weak  and  languid — 
woman's  sweet,  soft  words,  woman's  pity  and  sympathy, 
wen-  very  aeeeptahle  to  him  just  then. 

He  did  not,  speak  of  Violet,  but  he  told  her  the  storv  of 
his  father's  bitter  trials — how  Mrs.  Hardman's  money  was 
li'ft  to  them,  how  happy  it  had  made  them,  what  plans 
and  hopes  they  bad  built  on  it;  then  of  the  disputed  will, 
the  trial,  the  verdict;  how  his  father's  business  had  fallen 
away  from  him,  and  his  old  friends  had  one  by  one  de- 
l  him,  all  but  Eve  Lester:  and  he  told  her  how  K\  e 
had  come  to  oiler  her  fortune  to  them. 

Lady  Maude's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  listened. 

"That  is  a  girl  after  my  own  heart.'1  she  said.  "That  is 
just  one  of  the  things  1  should  have  done  myself.  l!ut  do 
you  mean  to  tell  me.  Mr.  L-msdale,  that  this  is  the  outeome 
of  Ktrj-ijsli  law.'  1  have  never  heard  of  so  cm. 
All  who  know  your  father  know  that  he  is  as  incapable  of 
doi n^  wrong  as  any  man  in  Kngland-in  fact,  he  would 
not  do  wrong— he  is  one  of  the  honestest  and  nobl- 
men.  I  have  always  hea.nl  him  so  highly  spoken  of.  You 
do  not  mean  t<>  say  that  his  fellow  townsmen  and  the  old 
friends  who  have  known  him  foe  years  stand  aloof  fn>m 
him  for  thisT 

She  spoke  with  angry  indignation  that  did  his  heart 
good  to  hear. 

"It  is  true,"  he  replied;  "and,  what  is  more,  they  have 


140  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

withdrawn  their  business  from  him — some  under  one  pre- 
text, some  under  another.  We  have  had  a  struggle  such 
as  few  could  understand,  and  my  great  fear  is  that  my 
father  will  never  be  a  strong  man  again." 

"  He  wants  reaction, "  she  said — "something  that  would 
put  him  back  into  his  place — that  would  reinstate  him  in 
public  opinion  ;  and  he  shall  have  it.  I  will  tell  this  story, 
just  as  you  have  told  it  to  me,  to  the  earl,  my  father,  and  I 
am  sure  this  is  one  of  the  wrongs  he  will  hasten  to  redress. 
I  am  glad  that  I  have  seen  you,  glad  that  you  have  trusted 
me.  There  has  been  a  gross  miscarriage  of  justice." 

"  Human  laws  must  always  be  more  or  less  imperfect," 
returned  Felix.  "  It  is  only  the  Divine  laws  that  have  no 
flaw." 

"Tell  me  more  of  Eve  Lester,"  said  Lady  Maude.  "Your 
fair,  false  Violet  does  not  interest  me,  but  Eve  Lester 
does.  I  love  noble  women — tell  me  more  of  her." 

He  told  of  her  patience,  her  heroism,  her  noble,  gentle, 
generous  life  ;  and  Lady  Maude,  looking  at  him,  wondered 
why,  when  he  understood  the  beauty  of  her  fair  soul  so- 
well,  he  had  not  loved  her  in  preference  to  Violet. 

"Men  are  all  the  same,"  she  thought ;  "a  fair  face  will 
lead  them  in  any  direction.  They  lose  their  heads  when 
beauty  comes  upon  the  scene  ;  they  are  not  strong-minded 
as  a  i-ule."  Then  with  a  smile  she  looked  up  at  Felix. 

"  The  little  mouse  in  the  fable  freed  the  lion.  I  will  be 
the  mouse  in  this  instance,  and  I  promise  you  such  help  for 
your  father  as  shall  make  his  trouble  really  a  blessing  in 
disguise." 

He  thought  of  Eve's  words  and  repeated  them  to  her. 
She  smiled. 

"Your  friend  Eve  is  right,"  she  said.  "Sorrow  is  often 
a  blessing  in  disguise.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  met  you ; 
you  will  go  home  all  the  happier  for  knowing  that  the  hour 
of  your  father's  triumph  is  at  hand.  You  will  have  some- 
thing to  distract  your  thoughts  from  fair,  false  Violet; 
and,  remembering  my  promise,  the  fourteenth  of  Septem- 
ber, her  wedding-day,  will  not  be  the  most  unhappy  day 
of  your  life  after  all." 

He  thanked  her  until  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  again, 
and  then  he  told  her  that  he  was  better,  and  asked  her  to 
let  him  walk  with  her  to  the  end  of  the  wood.  When  he 
tried  to  stand  up,  he  looked  very  white  and  ill — she  almost 
feared  for  him ;  but  the  giddiness  soon  passed,  and  they 
walked  together  to  where  she  had  left  her  drawing  mate- 
rials. He  thanked  her  again  and  again  so  simply  and  ear- 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  141 

nestly  that  she  was  charmed.    Then  she  left  him,  and  went 
away  home. 


Felix  had  intended  to  take  up  his  burden  bravely  and 
carry  it  nobly,  but  human  love  and  human  passion  were 
too  strong  for  him — he  could  not  face  the  world  just  yet. 
]Ii-  staid  all  night  in  the  shelter  of  the  Bramber  Woods, 
doing  hard  battle  with  his  despair ;  he  watched  the  sun 
set,  and  the  moon  rise  ;  he  watched  the  golden  stars  come 
out  one  by  one;  he  watched  the  checkered  shadows  that 
the  moon  threw  upon  the  grass  ;  he  listened  to  the  wind  as 
it  sang  its  sweet  song ;  he  thought  of  all  the  moonlit  nights 
on  which  he  had  met  Violet.  He  fell  asleep  for  a  few  short 
moments,  and  dreamed  that  he  stood  under  the  wet  lilac 
bushes  with  her;  her  arms  were  clasped  around  his  neck, 
her  beautiful  face  was  raised  to  his,  and  she  was  scolding 
him  that  even  in  a  dream  he  could  believe  her  false. 
He  woke  with  a  cry  of  rapture.  There  lay  the  cold  moon- 
light, there  stood  the  giant  trees,  and  Violet  had  married 
Sir  <  >\ven. 

All  night  he  staid  there.  It  was  the  one  terrible  battle 
of  his  life.  He  was  not  ashamed  to  impart  all  his  sorrow  to 
the  listening  stars.  They  had  listened  to  CEnone's  wailing 
when  beautiful  Paris  left  his  love.  This  story  of  man's 
love  and  woman's  folly,  of  man's  trust  and  woman's 
treachery,  of  love  forsaken  and  forsworn,  was  nothing 
new  to  them.  There  were  times  that  night  when  he  almost 
went  mad.  when  he  cried  aloud  for  death.  But  Heaven 
merciful,  and  death  came  not.  The  morning  light 
found  him  pale,  weak,  and  exhausted,  hut  that  one  fierce 
paroxysm  had  taken  the  sting  of  his  sorrow  away.  It  was 
better  than  if  he  had  gone  home  and  been  ill  for  long  flays 
an«l  weeks.  That  « me  fierce  night  of  pain  exhausted  him; 
when  it  had  passed  he  was  too  weak  and  too  tired  to  suffer 
more. 

He  went  home  in  the  full  light  of  morning,  and  found 
Katie  waiting  for  him.  She  had  guessed  what  had  hap- 

1.      She  hftd  not  spoken  of  his  absence,  hut  she    ! 
anxiously  at  his  face  when  he  came  in.     lie  bent  down  and 
kissed  her. 

"It  is  all  over,  madrc"  he  said.  "Now  I  shall  live  down 
my  pain." 

Katie  looked  sadly  at  the  wound  on  his  broad,  white 
brow. 

"How  did    you  cut    yourself  so  terribly,   Felix?"  she 


H2  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

asked  ;  and  he  told  her.  It  was  one  of  his  great  merits  that 
he  never  spoke  a  false  or  evasive  word. 

On  that  same  night  Lady  Chevenix  sat  with  her  husband 
in  a  first-class  railway  carriage  on  the  road  to  Paris.  They 
were  to  spend  their  honey-moon  there,  and  they  had  left 
Dover  by  that  night's  steamer.  As  the  night  grew  darker 
and  the  red  lights  of  the  signals  passed  more  quickly,  she 
fell  into  a  deep,  troubled  slumber.  Her  husband  looked 
with  exulting  pride  at  the  marvelous  face  with  its  exquis, 
ite  beauty ;  he  was  glad  that  she  slept — it  would  rest  her-- 
and  would  help  to  while  the  hours  away.  He  tried  to 
sleep,  but  it  was  impossible.  He  was  exultant,  triumphant ; 
he  had  won  the  only  thing  wanting  to  complete  the  happi- 
ness of  his  life.  His  heart  hungered  as  he  looked  at  the 
graceful  figure  of  his  wife.  He  noted  with  pride  and  pleas- 
ure how  the  handsome  traveling-dress  became  her  sweet 
loveliness. 

The  folly  of  that  lawyer  to  imagine  that  such  a  woman 
as  this  was  born  to  live  in  a  place  like  Lilford.  His  year's 
income  would  not  find  her  a  decent  dress.  He  will  recog- 
nize his  mistake  when  he  sees  Lady  Chevenix. 

It  was  strange  that  no  feeling  of  pity  for  his  rival  or 
remorse  for  his  own  behavior  crossed  his  mind  He  did 
not  seem  even  to  understand  that  he  had  done  a  dishonor- 
able thing.  He  had  outwitted  another  man,  and  he  was 
delighted.  Then  'he  saw  the  face  that  he  was  watching 
grow  paler  in  sleep.  Suddenly  his  young  wife  awoke  with 
a  loud  cry.  He  saw  her  look  at  both  her  hands,  while  her 
white  lips  trembled. 

"What  is  it,  Violet?    he  asked. 

"A  dream,"  she  replied,  shuddering,  "only  a  dream." 

"Very  horrid  things  they  are,  too,  sometimes,"  he  said. 
"What  did  you  dream"  ? 

She  was  still  looking  at  her  hands,  rubbing  the  softly- 
tinted  gloves  as  though  she  would  fain  rub  something  from 
them.  She  was  too  confused  to  be  quick  at  invention. 

"What  did  you  dream?"  he  repeated,  and  there  was  a 
certain  sharpness  in  his  voice. 

"I  thought  that  I  held  a  human  heart  in  my  hand,  and 
that  it  was  bleeding,"  she  replied. 

"That  would  do  for  a  sensation  novel,  Violet,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "You  have  something  better  than  a  heart  if 
your  hand — you  have  a  diamond  ring  on  your  finger  worth 
two  hundred  pounds,  and  you  have  a  wedding-ring  that 
makes  you  Lady  Chevenix.  Go  to  sleep  again,  but  dream 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  143 

of  diamonds,  rr»f  dear,  not  hearts — as    whist  players  say, 
diamonds  are  tramps." 

But  sleep  had  gone  from  Violet ;  she  watched   the 
until   morning   dawned,  and  more  than  once,  although  she 
Lady   Chevenix   of   Garswood,  one   of   the  wealthiest 
en  in  England,  she  wished  that  it  were  all  undone,  and 
that  she  was  Violet  Have  again. 

On    that    same   night    Lady  ^Jmide   and   Lord  Aril- 
1    long   and   earnestly.     She    told  him   the   stor; 
she  had  heard,  aiid   asked  him  for  help.     He   thought  long 

r  it. 

"I  know  of  one  way  in  which  I  can  help  him,  Maude," 
id,  "hut  that  will  require  consideration."     Then  he 
said  a  few  words  in  a  low  voice. 
Shi'  clasped  her  hands. 

"Will   you  do   that,   papa?"   she   interrog  "That 

would  he  one  of  the  grandest  things  in  the  world.     1  shall 
-far  more  pleased  than  at  any  good   fortune 
which  could  happen  ro  myself." 

"I  will  think  ot  it,"  replied  Lord  Arlington,  and  when  he 
spoke  in  the  tone  that  he  did  then  his  daughter  knew  that 
he  was  determined  to  accomplish  what  he  had  in  view. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A     TRUE     NOBLEMAN. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  the  town  of  Lilford.     As 

::m    said    to  another,  they  might  alway    expect  E 
thing  wht.i  the  earl  came  home;    hut   this 

stranger  than  all.  The  earl's  tenants,  and  every  man  in 
Lilford  with  whom  he  did  hnsiness  of  any  kind,  received 
an  invitation  to  dine  with  the  earl  at  the  ••r>raml»er  Arms." 

The  "Bramber.  Arms"  was  the  chief  hotel  in  Lilford.     It 
-••mhly  room,  where  the  county  halls 

and  the  hunt  balls  were  all  given.  It  was  the  very  strong- 
hold and  fortress  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  neighborh 1, 

and  its  resour  vonderful.     The  dinner  to  the   ten- 

ants was  to  !-e  served  in  the  assemhly  room.  People  called 
it  a  rent  dinner,  such  a<  the  earl  generally  gave  to  his  ten- 
ants .  :r;  but  they  agreed  that  there  was  something 
more  in  it  than  that,  or  why  were  so  many  hidden  who 
were  not  tenants.'  Why  were  the  doctors  the  vicar,  and 
every  other  person  with  whom  the  earl  had  any  business 
relations  asked,  and  ma  iy  more  besides?  The  earl,  it 
remarked,  rode  or  drove  through  Lilford  almost  every  day. 


144  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

and  he  was  sure  each  day  to  give  three  or  four  invitations. 
Public  expectation  and  excitement  increased.  What  could 
the  earl  mean  by  such  unlimited  hospitality  ? 

The  proprietor  of  the  "Bramber  Arms"  gave  glowing  ac- 
counts of  the  dinner  that  was  to  be  prepared.  No  expense 
was  to  be  spared.  He  was  to  provide  the  most  costly  wines, 
the  choicest  dishes.  He  declared  that  during  his  business 
career  he  had  known  nothing  like  it. 

Felix  heard  of  the  grand  banquet,  the  rent  dinner,  as  it 
was  called,  and  went  home  one  evening  pleased  to  have 
some  news  that  would  interest  his  father.  When  he 
reached  Vale  House  he  was  astonished  to  find  that  two 
letters  of  invitation  were  there  before  him,  one  for  his 
father  and  one  for  himself. 

"That  is  wonderful,"  he  said.  "Why  has  the  earl  invited 
us?" 

Nor  was  his  wonder  much  decreased  when  in  his 
father's  letter  he  read  a  few  words  written  in  the  earl's 
own  handwriting,  and  signed  "Arlington" — a  few  kindly 
words,  begging  Mr.  Lonsdale,  if  possible,  to  be  present,  as 
he  very  much  wished  to  see  him. 

"That  means  good  news  for  you,  father, "  he  said.  He 
had  never  mentioned  his  interview  with  Lady  Maude, 
neither  had  he  forgotten  it. 

Mr.  Lonsdale  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"There  will  be  no  more  good  news  for  me  in  this  world, 
my  dear  boy — no  second  Will-o'-the-wisp  will  ever  lead  me 
astray.  For  the  future  I  shall  believe  in  nothing  but  what 
I  see." 

"You  will  find  I  am  right,"  said  Felix.  "You  will  go, 
father,  will  you  not  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will  go,  just  to  show  my  fellow-townsmen  that, 
while  they  treat  me  as  a  thief  or  a  swindler,  the  Earl  of 
Arlington  treats  me  as  a  gentleman.  I  will  go,  if  only  to 
show  them  that.  Yet  I  have  some  misgivings,  Felix.  If 
they  avoid  me  as  they  have  done  it  will  kill  me.  Felix, 
what  if  his  lordship  has  heard  nothing  of  this  story,  and 
has  invited  me  in  ignorance  ?  WThat  if,  when  he  finds  it 
out,  he  avoids  me,  too  ?" 

"My  dear  father,  why  dwell  on  ti'ifles?  Lord  Arlington 
says  expressly  that  he  wishes  to  see  you.  Surely  you  do 
not  doubt  his  word  ?  He  has  been  so  much  in  Lilford  lately 
that  you  may  be  quite  sure  he  has  heard  the  whole  history." 

In  his  heart  Felix  felt  certain  that  Lady  Maude  had  told 
her  father  all  about  it,  and  that  this  invitation  of  the  earl's 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  145 

had  something  to  do  with  her  communication.     He  placed 
his  arm  caressingly  around  his  father's  neck. 

"You  must  get  better,  father,"  he  said,  "and  come  with 
me." 

"I  will,  Felix  ;  I  will  do  my  best,"  he  replied. 

Eve  Lester  came  and  talked  to  him  ;  Kate  cheered  him, 
and  between  them  the  sorrow-stricken  man  took  courage, 
and   resolved   to  go  among  his  friends  again.     Friends  or 
no  matter  which,  he  would  go  among  them. 

Kate  will  never  forget  how  she  helped  him  to  dress,  how 
she  quieted  the  trembling  nerves,  while  Eve  cheered  him 
witli  brave  words. 

"I  shall  remain  here  until  you  return,"  she  said,  "for  I 
am  quite  certain  you  will  bring  good  news  with  you,  though 
I  cannot  think  what  the  good  news  will  be." 

"I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  imagine  why  both  Eve  and  you, 
Felix,  should  think  good  fortune  lies  in  store  for  me," 
observed  Darcy  Lonsdale.  "I  have  been  under  a  shadow 
too  long." 

But  Felix  would  not  listen  to  one  desponding  word. 

They  had  engaged  a  fly  to  carry  them  to  the  "Bramber 
Anns,"  and  both  father  and  son  were  surprised  at  the  deco- 
rations, the  ila.^s.  the  evergreens,  the  arches  of  welcome. 

"People  show  great  respect  to  Lord  Arlington,"1  said 
Darcy  Lonsdale,  "and  well  they  may,  for  he  is  a  just  man." 

Then  together  father  and  son  entered  the  assembly 
room,  where  the  grand  banquet  was  laid.  They  saw  tho 
earl  at  the  top  of  the  room,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  gen- 
tlemen. 

"I  shall  go  straight  to  him,  Felix,"  said  the  lawyer; 
''there  sliall  be  no  mistake  about  it.  I  w?ll  not  sit  at  his 
table  under  false  pretenses." 

"You   shall  do  as   you  will,  father;  where  you  lead  I  will 
follo\v,"  was  Felix's  reply. 

Darcy  Lonsdal"  walked  up  to  the  earl,  but,  before  he  had 
time  to  speak  to  him,  Lord  Arlington  held  out  his  hand 
and  shook  his  with  a  hearty  grasp. 

"I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  he  said, 
warmly. 

But  Darcy  Lonsdale,  looking  into  the  earl's  face,  said  : 

"My  lord,  before  I  take  advantage  of  your  kindness.  I<-t 
HIP  ask  you  if  you  have  heard  my  story — if  you  have  heard 
that  I  have  1 n  charged  with  influencing  one  of  my  cli- 
ents to  leave  me  mone 

Y.-s,  I  have  heard  it,"  replied  the  earl. 

"Have  you  heard  that  a  jury  of  my  own  countrymen 


146  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

found  me  guilty,  and  that  my  fellow-townsmen — the  old 
friends  whom  I  have  spent  all  my  life  among — in  their 
own  minds  found  me  guilty,  too,  and  have  shown  their 
opinion,  most  of  them,  by  withdrawing  their  business  from 
me — the  old  friends  I  loved  and  served,  my  lord  ?" 

The  earl  took  his  hand  again. 

"  I  have  heard  it,  Mr.  Lonsdale,  and  regret  it.  I  am  glad 
to  have  this  chance  of  saying  publicly  that  I  disbelieve  all 
that  has  been  said  about  your  guilt,  and  am  proud  to  take 
the  hand  of  an  honest,  injured  man." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  lord,"  returned  Darcy  Lonsdale. 

His  wonder  increased  when  the  earl,  turning  to  him, 
said : 

"  Your  place,  Mr.  Lonsdale,  is  at  my  right  hand. " 

The  lawyer  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  Lord  Arling- 
ton smiled. 

"Yes,  at  my  right  hand,"  he  said,  "and  after  dinner  you 
will  know  the  reason  why." 

Wondering  at  this,  Darcy  Lonsdale  took  his  seat. 

"Your .son  will  sit  next  to  you,"  said  Lord  Arlington.  "I 
shall  want  him  as  well." 

Mr.  Lonsdale  saw  the  looks  of  wonder  from  all  the  gen- 
tlemen assembled. 

"They  are  not  accustomed  to  see  me  so  honored,"  he 
said  to  himself,  bitterly. 

Then  the  grand  banquet  began,  and  it  was  one  long  re- 
membered in  Lilford,  because  of  its  grandeur  and  costli- 
ness ;  those  who  partook  of  it  described  it  in  few  words — it 
was  worthy  of  the  earl  who  gave  it.  It  came  to  a  close  at 
last,  and  the  earl  ordered  some  more  wine. 

"I  shall  have  a  toast  to  propose  presently,  gentlemen," 
he  said,  "  for  which  I  shall  want  brimming  glasses.  Before 
giving  it,  however,  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you." 

Silence,  deep  and  impressive,  fell  over  them ; .when  the 
earl  spoke  in  the  tone  that  he  did  he  meant  something. 
There  was  not  the  faintest  sound  when  he  began. 

"  Gentlemen,  old  friends,  and  neighbors  I  may  say,  there 
has  been  an  injustice  done  among  you  which  I  have  asked 
you  here  to-day  to  set  straight.  Understand  me  plainly,  as 
an  Englishman  I  uphold  the  legal  institutions  of  my  coun- 
try. I  bow  my  head  to  the  decision  of  a  judge  ;  I  listen 
with  respect  to  the  verdict  of  a  jury.  But,  gentlemen, 
human  laws,  just  because  they  are  human  and  not  divine, 
must  at  times  err ;  and  I  say  they  erred  when  they  pro- 
nounced a  man,  as  honest,  industrious,  and  honorable  as 
my  friend  Darcy  Lonsdale  capable  of  influencing  a  woman 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  147 

to  leave  him  her  money.  Gentlemen,  the  judge  who  gave 
sentence  against  him  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  the  jury 
who  decided  in  favor  of  the  heir-at-law  did  not  know  him. 
But  you  know  him ;  he  has  lived  among  you  all  his  1; 

-Tved    you  to  the  best  of  his  kno\\  ledge,  and  not   one 
among   you,  man,  woman,  or   child,  can   say   that   h' 
ever  spoken  a  false  word   or   done   a   mean   or   underhand 

He  has  always  been  industrious,  honest,  and  L 
ous — one  of  those  men  who  make  the  very  backbone  of  Old 
England — a  loyal  subject,  a  spirited  townsman,  a  true 
friend,  a  devoted  husband,  a  kind  father.  He  has  spent  his 
life  among  you,  and  not  one  of  you  ran  say  that  you  have 
ever  known  him  to  do  wroi..  -n  can,  speak." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  which  lasted  for  some  mon 
and  then  a  voice  said  : 

"  You  are  right,  my  lord.     Not  one  among  us  lias 
known  him  to  do  wrong." 

"  1  am  sure  not,"  declared  the  earl.     "  Now  mind  what  I 

With  the   jury  and   the   judge   who  thought  J 
Hardman  entitled  to  Elizabeth  Hardman'8  money,  and  who 
really  believed  that  Darcy  Lonsdale    had    wrongfully    used 
r',  at   influence  with  her,  I  have  nothing  to  d".     They 
did   their  duty  honestly,  even  if   mistakenly.     To  you  who 
constituted  yourselves  judge  and  jury — to  you  who.  know- 
ing the  man  and  his  character,  judged    him    yourseh 
guilty— to  you  I  wish  to  speak.     I  believe  him  to   be    inno- 
cent.    I  have  read  carefully  since  my  return  every  \v 
the;   trial,  and   I  say   before   you  all,  in  the  most  emphatic 
words  that  1  can    use,  that    I  believe    him  to    be    innocent, 
and,  what  is  more,  to  be  a  deeply  injured  man." 

He  was  obliged  to  stop,  for  there  rose  from  the  1: 
the    men    who    had    misjudged    Darcy    Lonsdale,  wh 
shunned  him,  who  had  withdrawn  their  business  from  him, 
who  had    half    broken  his  honest  heart  by  their   conduct,  a 
cheer  such  as  had  never  been   heard   in  Lilford.     Perhaps 
in    their    hearts  they  had    never  (|tiite  believed  him  guilty. 
Perhaps  the  earl's  noble   words  touched  them  with 
punction   and    r^u'ret.     Something   appealed    to  them,  and 
they  cheered  until  the  walls  of  the  "Bramber  An. 
•;ii. 

-We. -n  ntlernen,"  said  the  earl.     "Our 

old  friend  and  fellow  townsman  is  an  honest,  honorablo 
gentleman." 

They  <•!;•  in   and   again.     It  was  with  some  diffi- 

culty that  tb"  earl  could  make   himself  heard.     At  L 
leiie>  iored,  and  then  he  continued  : 


148  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"We  can  never  make  up  to  him  for  all  that  he  has 
suffered ;  we  cannot  give  him  back  the  strength,  the  hope, 
the  happiness  he  has  lost ;  we  cannot  atone  for  the 
wretched,  hours,  the  sleepless  nights,  and  the  weary  days — 
all  that  is  beyond  us.  But  I  have  thought  of  a  plan  by 
which  we  may  aid  him,  and  I  want  the  close  attention  of 
every  gentleman  present  while  I  propose  it." 

The  earl  paused  for  one  moment,  and  those  seated  at  his 
hospitable  table  looked  earnestly  at  him ;  there  was  still 
deeper  silence  when  he  began  to  speak  again. 

"  There  is  no  secrecy  in  England.  Everything  done  in 
the  country  is  as  open  as  the  sea  that  surrounds  it.  Our 
newspapers  ventilate  everything,  and  in  one  sense  that  is 
quite  right ;  but  in  a  case  like  this  it  is  hard.  Throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  England  men  have  read  how 
Darcy  Lonsdale's  case  went  against  him,  and  how  he  lost 
the  money  left  to  him.  I  want  something  else  to  go  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  ;  I  want  people  to  read 
how  Darcy  Lonsdale's  friends  and  townsmen — myself  at 
their  head — met  and  expressed  their  sympathy  with  him, 
and  that  they  presented  him  with  a  handsome  testimonial 
to  show  their  full  confidence  in  him  and  to  make  up  for  his 
loss.  That  testimonial  I  propose  to  head  myself  with  five 
hundred  pounds,  and  I  venture  to  say  there  will  not  be  a 
nobleman  or  a  gentleman  in  the  county  who  will  not  add 
his  name  to  the  list." 

Cheers  again  arose — never  had  the  "Bramber  Arms1' 
heard  such  cheers.  Darcy  Lonsdale's  face  had  grown 
•deathly  pale,  but  for  the  strong  arm  of  his  son  thrown 
around  him,  he  would  have  fallen. 

"I  have  one  word  more  to  say,  gentlemen,"  continued  the 
•earl,  "  and  it  is  this.  My  agent,  Mr.  John  Sleaman,  a  gen- 
tleman whom  you  all  know  and  respect,  is  leaving  me.  I 
am  glad  to  say  that  a  fortune  has  fallen  to  him,  and  that 
he  is  going  to  enjoy  it.  I  propose  now  to  ask  Mr.  Darcy 
Lonsdale  to  take  his  post.  The  emoluments  are  good — one 
thousand  per  annum  and  a  house  to  live  in.  If  he  will  ac- 
cept the  office  I  shall  be  proud  to  place  my  interests,  my 
welfare,  my  property,  in  the  hands  of  a  worthy,  honest, 
and  honorable  gentleman.  Yet  one  word  more.  Mr.  Lons- 
dale is  no  longer  young,  but  he  has  a  son — I  wish  we  all 
had  such  a  son — and  I  propose  that  he  acts,  if  necessary,  in 
his  father's  place,  always,  of  course,  with  his  authority  ;  if 
he  does,  I  shall  secure  two.  good  agents  instead  of  one. 
Gentlemen,  join  me  in  drinking  the  health  of  a  valued, 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  H9 

trusted  townsman,  of  an  honest,  honorable  man,  my  agent, 
Darcy  Lonsdale. " 

It  was  drank  with  such  honors  as  a  man's  name  seldom 
receives.  Then  Darcy  Lonsdale  rose  and  turned  his  white 
face  to  them,  but  he  could  make  no  speech — the  only  words 
his  trembling  lips  could  utter  were  : 

"Heaven  bless  you,  my  lord.  I  cannot  thank  you, 
though  you  have  made  a  man  of  me  again.  My  dear  old 
friends  and  neighbors,  how  could  you  have  misjudged  me  { 
But  you  see  now  that  it  was  all  a  mistake.  I  am  glad  of  it. 
In  future  we  will  deal  gently  with  each  other,  we  will 
judge  each  other  mercifully.  Lord  Arlington,  you  have 
saved  my  honor ;  henceforward  command  me  as  you  will." 
Then,  unable  to  say  any  more,  he  sat  down. 

Doctor  Hunter  was  the  first  to  leave  his  place  and  shake 
hands  with  him. 

"  I  never  believed  one  word  of  the  story,  Mr.  Lon«<  1 

1,  "although  I  confess  that  I  have  avoided  you.   V.'ill 
y<  >u  shake  hands  and  let  the  past  be  past  ?" 

After  that  the  guests  went  up  to  the  lawyer  one  by  one 
and  shook  his  hand.     Some  frankly  avowed   that,  tiny  had 
misjudged  him,  some   begged   his  pardon,  some 
they  had   gone  with  the   many,   but  every   man   ]» 
wished  him  well  and  Godspeed  in  his  new  life. 

The  speech  worth  hearing  when  that 
when  justice  had  been  done  to  an  injured  man,  when  ; 
ha  1  been  made,  was  when  Doctor  Hunter  stood  np  t<> 
:  1,'ii-d  Arlington's   health.     Never  was  a   t<> 

reived,  i'or  there  is  nothing  after  all  which  touch 
lishman's  heart  sooner  than  defense  of  the  weak,  lo 
•,  and  generosity. 

It  was  the  most  successful  evening  ever  known,  and  it 
did  an  in  d  ;  there  was  not  a  man  ] 

who  did  not  learn  ,  from  the  carl,  wh 

solve  in  his  heart  to  be  more  merciful,  more  pitiful, 
charitable,  Avho   did   not   say   to   himself  that  he  \v.  • 

ful  in  judging  another  time.  Andu 
tiling   that,  when   they«-ame    to    comparer 
not  a  iiK.n  among  them  who  had  really  believed  ; 
guilty;   they  had  gone  only  with  what  th«  t  was 

•i — one   had   removed  his   '•  '    the 

another  had. one  I 

:iotherhad.     But  the  earl  had    taught  them 
son  which  went  home  t"  each  heart. 

It  was  such  a  pleasast  evening.  ::nd    Lord  AH.' 
so  contrived  matters  that  Darcy  Lonsdale  was  the  real 


150  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

and  not  himself.  He  was  all  that  was  most  kind  and  con- 
siderate ;  he  talked  to  him,  and  won  his  son's  heart  forever. 
But  in  everything  he  put  Darcy  first,  so  that  people  might 
understand  all  this  had  been  done  for  him.  Was  it  any 
wonder  that  when  he  was  gone  the  men  stood  in  little 
groups,  each  one  praising  him  ? 

Felix  followed  him  to  the  door  of  his  carriage,  and  said  : 

"  My  lord,  your  life  is  filled,  so  people  say,  with  great 
and  generous  actions,  but  none  could  be  so  great,  so  gener- 
ous, so  noble,  as  that  which  you  have  done  to-day." 

"I  have  only  done  justice,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  earl, 
kindly.  "Your  father  was  an  injured  man;  I  have  tried 
to  set  him  straight.  Au  reste,  I  wanted  a  good  agent,  and  I 
have  found  one." 

"You  cannot  make  light  of  the  deed,"  returned  Felix; 
"  it  is  a  good  one.  My  father  appears  to  be  a  new  man  to- 
night ;  there  is  a  light  on  his  face  and  fire  in  his  eyes  that 
I  hare  not  seen  for  long  months.  The  miracle  has  been 
worked  by  you — you  have  removed  the  false  reproach  at- 
taching to  his  name  ;  I  can  fancy,  but  I  cannot  tell  you, 
what  our  home  will  be  like  to-night.  My  heart  beats  fast 
when  I  think  of  the  mother  and  the  children  there,  my  lord. 
I  am  not  very  eloquent,  and  I  am  moved  too  much  for 
words — I  can  only  echo  my  father's  request,  command  me 
as  you  will." 

The  earl  was  more  touched  than  he  liked  to  show,  by  the 
emotion  on  the  handsome  young  face. 

UI  will  make  you  this  one  promise,  Mr.  Felix  Lonsdale," 
he  said,  "  if  ever  I  want  a  service  done,  or  want  a  friend,  I 
will  come  to  you." 

"Thank  you,  my  lord,"  responded  Felix,  and  when  the 
earl  drove  off  home  he  knew  that  he  had  left  some  of  the 
happiest  hearts  in  England  behind  him. 

No  wonder  that  they  praised  and  blessed  him;  he  was 
a  kind-hearted  man,  who  knew  how  to  use  his  influence  in 
a  noble  manner — one  of  those  men  who,  to  keep  alive  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people  a  love  for  their  rulers,  do  more  than 
many  orators  and  statesmen  put  together. 

What  a  night  it  was  !  The  vicar  drove  away  soon  after 
the  earl  had  left,  and  then  one  by  one  the  company  dwin- 
dled down  to  about  twenty.  These  would  not  let  Darcy 
Lonsdale  leave  them — they  had  so  much  to  say  to  him,  and 
were  so  anxious  to  make  up  to  him  for  their  coldness,  and 
when  the  host  grew  anxious  they  would  not  separate  until 
they  had  sung  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  in  chorus.  Then  they 


WEAKER  THAN  A  TF0JMY.  151 

escorted  father  and   son  to  Vale  House,  where  Eve  and 
Katie  anxiously  awaited  them. 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  said  Eve,  springing  from  her  seat, 
"that  I  hear  them,  and  that  is  Mr.  Lonsdale  laughing — do 
you  hear,  Katie? — laughing — and  he  has  never  laughed 
since  the  trial :  Now  I  know  there  is  good  ne\\ 

There  was  good  news  in  very  truth,  and  the  pity  was  that 
Lord  Arlington  was  not  there  to  see  Kate  clasp  her  arms 
around  her  husband's  neck  and  sob  out  that  she  always 
knew  matters  would  come  right — that  he  was  so 
Heaven  was  sure  to  make  his  innocence  clear.  Presently 
she  looked  at  him  with  tremulous  lips. 

"Is  it  really  true,  Darcy,  that  you  are  to  be  the  earl's 
agent,  and  have  a  thousand  a  year?  I  can  hardly  believe 
that  it  is  all  true." 

"  It  is  true,  Kate, "  he  replied.  "  Eve,  my  dear,  what  have 
you  to  say  to  me,  my  true  friend — the  one  true  friend  who 
loved  me  well  enough  to  offer  me  her  fortune  if  I  would 
take  it?  Eve,  I  shall  never  forget  that." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Eve  should  spend  the  night  at 
Vale  House,  so  they  sat  around  the  fire  until  they  were 
quite  ashamed  of  the  hour,  and  Felix  repeated  every  one  of 
the  earl's  noble  words,  while  the  two  ladies  listened  in  rap- 
tures; every  time  he  paused  they  said,  "Go  on,  Felix," 
until  he  assured  them  that  he  had  repeated  every  word. 

"So  it  will  be  printed    in   every  paper  in  Finland  '." 
Kate.     "Well,  i\\\  only  puzzle  is.  what  could  have  inspired 
Lord  Arlington  to  do  such  a  kind  and  generous  action  .'" 

Felix  knew  that  Lady  Maude  had  been  the  chief   in- 
tor  of  it,  bat  that  was  a  secret  lie  never  told     he  kept  it  all 
his  life.     It  was  Darcy  Lonsdale  who  answered  his  wife's 
question. 

"My  dear  Kate,"  he  said,  "Lord  Arlington  has  a  lo\ 
seeing  justice  done.     I  remember  when  he  raised  half  the 
county  because  some  wrong  had   been    done    to    a   to!; 
keeper.      It    was    such    men  as  he  who    made    old    Kngland 
what  she  is,  and  who  made  the  word  'England'  a  synonym 
for  honor." 

And  then  these  simple  people,  win*  had  been  through  the 
fiery  furnace  of  suffering,  who    had    borne   sorrow,  sh 
and  disgrace,  who  had  never  ventured  to  hope  for  justice  in 
this  world,  knelt  and  thanked  Heaven  for  their  rescue ;  and 
Darcy  Londsale's  eyes  grew  dim  with  irrateful    tears 
opened  his  Dih'e  aiid  read  how  the  just  ami  merciful    < 
tor  saves  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him. 

Gradually  they  awoke  to  the  full  reality  of  the  good  for 


152  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

tune  that  had  befallen  them.  The  strength  of  his  youth 
seemed  to  have  returned  to  Darcy  Lonsdale ;  he  took  his 
place  once  more  among  his  townsmen,  he  went  briskly  to 
and  from  his  office,  he  worked  hard  at  his  business,  the 
clerks  came  back  one  by  one  to  the  office,  and  far  more 
than  its  ancient  glory  returned  to  the  house  of  Lonsdale  & 
Son. 

Katie  could  not  rest  until  she  had  seen  the  earl,  in  order 
to  thank  him,  and  the  little  lady  went  over  to  Bramber 
Towers  and  asked  for  an  interview.  She  tried  to  thank 
.him  in  a  dignified,  matronly  fashion,  and  ended  by  falling 
upon  her  knees  and  kissing  his  hand,  very  much  to  the 
earl's  confusion  and  delight.  It  was  a  new  life  for  them 
all,  and  the  warmth  of  it  cheered  and  brightened  them 
more  than  anything  had  ever  done  before. 

The  day  came  when  Darcy  Lonsdale  put  his  arm  lov- 
ingly on  his  son's  shoulder,  and  said  : 

"  Do  not  think,  Felix,  that  in  the  midst  of  my  troubles 
and  of  my  prosperity  I  have  given  no  thought  to  you.     I 
am  doing  the   best  I  can  for  you  by  giving  you  so  much 
work  that  you  will  have  no  time  to  regret  your  lost  love." 

"My  dear  father,  I  shall  regret  her  until  I  die,"  re- 
turned Felix. 

"  The  young  always  think  both  their  love  and  their  sor- 
row immortal.  I  will  say  now  what  I  have  never  said  be- 
fore, because  I  thought  it  would  pain  you — I  thought  she 
was  not  worthy  of  such  love  as  yours.  She  had  nothing 
but  a  beautiful  face  to  recommend  her— her  soul  was  not 
beautiful,  her  heart  was  not  true.  The  time  will  come 
when  you  will  say  that  you  had  a  fortunate  escape.  I  pray 
Heaven  that  it  may  be  so. " 

But  Felix  looked  grave ;  the  world  must  come  to  an  end 
before  he  could  see  a  silver  lining  to  that  cloud — the  cloud 
of  his  misplaced,  unhappy  love. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"I  HEAR  NOTHING  BUT  THE  LONSDALES." 

Lady  Chevenix  wrote  a  long  letter  home,  telling  h°r 
mother  how  greatly  she  was  enjoying  Paris — how  she  had 
been  to  one  of  the  State  balls  at  the  Tuileries,  and  how  the 
emperor  had  danced  with  her — and  Mrs.  Have,  on  her  side, 
made  all  the  ladies  round  Lilford  envious  by  telling  them 
how  her  "  dear  child,  Lady  Chevenix,"  was  enjoying  herself 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  153 

in  Paris,  and  what  a  favorite  she   was  at  the  Imperial 
Court. 

Sir  Owen  was  very  kind  to  Violet  in  those  days,  and  she 
was  so  completely  dazzled  by  the  novelty  of  all  she  saw 
that  she  never  remembered  Felix,  except  to  congratulate 
herself  on  her  own  good  sense  in  having  given  him  his 
confif.  Some  slight  indications  of  impatience  made  her 
think  that  Sir  Owen  had  a  certain  amount  of  bad  temper, 
but  at  present  he  had  shown  none  to  her— indeed,  she 
thought  him  far  better  than  he  had  represented  himself. 
He  had  told  her  that  he  gambled  and  drank.  She  hud 
nothing  of  these  bad  habits;  she  was  too  inexperienced  to 
detect  that  he  had  placed  a  restraint  on  himself  which 
might  break  down  any  day. 

She  did  not  like  him  very  much.  Although  he  v. 
baronet  and  a  man  of  wealth,  he  was  not  a  thorough  gen- 
tleman. That  she  must  have  known.  Thorough  gentle- 
men are  men  of  honor— and  the  man  who  steals  the  prom- 
ised wife  of  another  man  can  hardly  be  placed  under  that 
category.  She  found  that  Sir  <  >\\en  was  coarse  in  his  man- 
ners, coarse  in  his  speech.  She  often,  even  in  those  early 
days,  .shrank  from  him,  saying  : 

"You  talk  so  strangely,  Owen— I  do  not  understand  j 

"Then  you  must  have  some  lessons,  my  charming  wife.'' 
he  would  answer,  laughingly,  following  up  the  remark  by 
speech  that  was  anything  hut  reiined. 

That  was   done    in  good-humor;  what  he  could  he  when 
that  humor  changed  she  had  yet  to  find   out.     She    did    not 
love  him— she  never  made  the  least  pretense  of  loving  him. 
She  was   kind   to  him;  she  tried  to  talk  to  him,  to   amuse 
him,  she  obeyed  his  wishes,  and  made  herself  very  amiable 
and  charming— not  because  she  loved  him,  but  bccair 
was  the  means  of  procuring  her  all  the  luxury,  the  m, 
cence,  the  pleasure  that  she  now  enjoyed.     In  his. 

way  lie  felt  that. 

He  brought  her  home  one  day  a  set  of  sapphires  so  hnl 
liant   and    rare   that   she  cried  out   with  rapture  when  sho 
saw  them. 

"There  are  no  sapphires  finer   than  these,11  he  ' 
"What  do  you  say  for  them,  Yioi< 

"I  say  'Thank  you'  with  all  my  heart,"  si, 

"Is  that  all.  Violet?" 

"What  more  can  1  say,  except  that  you  are  good,  kind, 
and  generou 

"Can  you  think  of  nothing  else,  Violet?"  he  asked,    bn 
looked  puzzled. 


154  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  I  cannot,  indeed,  Owen ;  but  I  will  say  anything  you 
wish  me  to  say." 

He  turned  away  impatiently. 

"  If  you  thought  any  set  form  of  words,  any  pretty  phrase 
would  please  me,  you  would  use  it — I  am  quite  sure  of 
that.1' 

AVith  the  brilliant  sapphires  in  one  of  her  hands,  she 
looked  half  wistfully  at  him ;  the  man  who  had  it  in  his 
power  to  make  such  presents  as  this  was  worth  any 
amount  of  patience. 

"  I  would  say  anything  to  please  you,  Owen,"  she  said. 

He  looked  into  her  fair  face. 

" I  knew  you  would,"  he  returned,  "but  it  has  never  oc- 
curred to  you  to  throw  your  arms  around  my  neck  and 
kiss  me,  and — and  say,  '  Thank  you,  my  darling. '  ' 

She  shrank  from  him  with  a  little  shudder,  his  dark  face 
was  so  close  to  hers. 

UI  have  noticed,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  always  ready  to 
thank  me  when  I  bring  you  any  of  the  silly  trifles  women 
like  so  much — you  are  then  most  amiable,  but  never  once, 
by  Heaven,  since  \ve  have  been  married  have  you  come  to 
me  and  kissed  me  of  your  own  free  will. " 

"  I  will  do  so  now,"  she  said,  and  she  placed  the  sapphires 
in  their  casos. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  returned.  "  It  would  not  be  sponta- 
neous. You  would  do  it  because  I  asked  you. " 

She  was  startled  at  the  expression  of  his  face,  at  the 
tone  of  his  voice — startled,  and  just  a  little  afraid. 

"You  do  love  me,  Violet,  do  you  not?1'  he  asked. 

She  had  never  thought  about  loving  him ;  he  was  to  her 
a  rich  man  who  had  wanted  her  to  marry  him,  who  had 
bribed  her  by  his  nVlios  and  his  title,  and  for  whom  she 
had  given  up  the  man  she  really  loved  ;  but  to  love  him — 
she  had  never  thought  of  it ;  it  had  never  entered  into  her 
calculations.  He  was  to  have  her  beauty,  she  was  to  have 
his  money  and  his  title. 

"Do  you  love  me.  Violet?"  he  demanded,  angrily,  and 
before  she  had  time  to  speak  a  sudden  conviction  darted 
through  her  mind  that  she  did  not  love  him,  and  never 
should — a  certain  terrible  conviction  that,  although  she 
was  married  to  this  man,  she  loved  Felix  Lonsdale  still. 

She  trembled  as  she  answered  : 

"Yes,  you  know  I  love  you.  Owen." 

She  knew  the  words  were  false,  but  she  was  too  fright- 
ened to  say  anything  else. 

"I  know  you  ought  to  love  me."  he  said,  savagely,  "but 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  155 

there  is  no  understanding  a  woman — fair  dealing  is  not 
characteristic  of  the  sex.  Still  I  should  not  like  to  think 
that  you  married  me  for  my  money,  and  for  nothing  else. 
Did  you,  Violet  I" 

She  was  not  clever  at  lying,  although  she  had  broken  a 
noble  heart  by  her  weakness.  She  had  not  the  quick,  ready 
fashion  of  speaking  falsely  which  she  acquired  afterward. 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands;  it  was  easier  to  weep, 
after  the  weak  fashion  of  women,  than  to  speak. 

"  Nay,  I  did  not  mean  to  pain  you,  Violet,"  he  said.  "Do 
not  cry.  Still  I  should  like  to  know  that  you  love  me.  No 
man  would  like  to  think  that  his  wife  had  married  him  for 
his  money." 

After  that  little  scene  Lady  Chevenix  did  not  feel  quite 
s<  i  sure  of  her  husband,  and  began  to  stand  a  little  in  awe 
of  him. 


The  gay  French  capital  might  be  as  gay  as  it  would  be, 
Sir  Owen  would  not  remain.  Invitations  poured  in  upon 
him  and  his  beautiful  young  wife— he  would  not  accept 
them.  One  of  his  fixed  resolves  was  to  be  in  England  at 
Christmas,  and  to  England  he  was  determined  to  go.  In 
vain  Violet  pleaded  that  Garswood  at  Christinas  would  In- 
dull.  He  laughed  at  the  notion. 

"No  place  is  ever  dull  where  I   am,  Violet,"  he   cried 
'•That  shows  how  little  you  know  me.     I  shall  Jill  the  place 
with  visitors  of  my  own  choosing — and  I  promise  you  that 
we  shall  not  spend  our  time  in  sinking  psalms/' 

That  was  the  first  dissension  between  Violet  and  her  hus- 
band. She  would  fain  have  remained  IOU-.T.  but  Sir  <  >wen 
was  tired  of  Paris.  He  liked  English  sports.  English 
habits,  and  English  cheer.  He  was  aiiirry  that  V inlet 
should  for  one  moment  presume  to  like  Paris.  It  was  un- 
heard of,  he  said,  that  any  Englishwoman  should  tind 
Christmas  at  home  dull.  And  that  w;is  the  first  time  that 
Vi..let  saw  him  in  a  rage.  He  swore  loudly— n.-t  at 
that  was  to  come  later  on.  He 'declared  the  whole  race  of 
women  toolish  and  idiotic.  H<-  frightened  her  so  tli.v 
was  Kind  to  escape  from  his  presence,  and  give  orders  for 
the  packing  up. 

"I  am  not  my  own  mistress,  after    all,"  she  said,  with 
discontented  1,,'ok  on  her  fair  face.     "  I  cannot  do  as  I  like. 
1  never  dreamed  that  I  should  have  a  in: 

She  did  not  like  the  id. -a.     She  had  b.-en  BO  free   and 
fettered  all  her  life  that  it  was  new  to  her  to  be  undei 


156  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

trol.  She  had  yet  to  learn  that  Sir  Owen  had  the  obstinacy 
of  twenty  men,  and  that  when  he  had  once  set  his  mind 
upon  anything  he-  would  carry  it  through.  Her  wishes, 
caprices,  fancies,  and  desires  would  have  about  as  much 
effect  upon  him  as  summer  waves  have  upon  a  weather- 
beaten  rock. 

She  had  a  sample  of  this  when  they  reached  Calais  on 
their  return  to  England.  It  was  not  wet  weather,  but  there 
had  been  a  terrible  gale,  and  the  sea  was  rough.  Violet 
was  a  bad  sailor,  and  when  she  heard  the  surf  beating 
on  the  shore  she  begged  of  her  husband  to  delay  their  pas- 
sage at  least  twenty-four  hours.  She  was  so  afraid,  she 
said,  of  a  rough  sea. 

He  laughed.  It  was  all  nonsense — the  sea  would  not 
hurt  her.  No  one  ever  heard  of  an  accident  to  the  Dover 
and  Calais  boats. 

She  allowed  that,  but  the  passage  made  her  very  ill. 
Would  he  not  wait  ? 

"  If  you  are  ill,  you  will  soon  be  well  again ;  the  whole 
passage  does  not  occupy  two  hours.  You  must  bear  it  as 
other  people  do. " 

"I  did  not  think  you  could  be  so  unkind  to  me,  Owen," 
she  said,  piteously. 

"  I  am  not  unkind ;  but  I  warn  you  fairly  that  I  have 
very  little  patience  with  the  caprices  of  women.  As  for 
their  other  nonsense,  I  should  never  bear  it.  A  man  can- 
not be  expected  to  go  on  honey-mooning  forever.  That  kind 
of  thing  is  all  over  now,  and  we  may  as  well  take  our 
proper  places.  Mine  is  to  be  master — and  I  tell  you  quite 
frankly  that  I  intend  to  be  obeyed.  Make  up  your  mind  to 
that,  and  we  shall  get  along  all  right.  Thwart  me,  and  we 
shall  not  agree." 

They  were  not  very  pleasant  words  for  a  bride  of  only  a 
few  weeks  to  hear.  She  thought  over  them  for  some  time. 

"Felix  would  never  have  spoken  to  me  in  that  fashion," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  But  I  must  obey.  There  is  no  help 
for  it — he  is  supreme  master. " 

She  was  very  ill  crossing  the  Channel,  but  Sir  Owen  only 
laughed.  Sea-sickness  was  a  sort  of  jest  to  him.  He  never 
dreamed  that  his  young  wife  would  resent  the  laughter, 
but  she  did.  When  they  landed  at  Dover  she  would  not 
speak  to  him.  He  might  be  master,  she  said  to  herself,  a 
hundred  times  over,  but  no  man  should  laugh  at  her. 

"You  are  sulking  with  rne,"  he  said,  laughingly.  "Ah, 
my  Lady  Chevenix,  you  will  find  that  a  losing  game  !  I  do 
not  think  there  is  a  person  in  all  England — man  or  woman 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  157 

— who  can  sulk  so  long  or  so  thoroughly  as  I  can  myself,11 
and  that  she  found  to  be  perfectly  true. 

Neither  of  them  had  the  faintest  idea  of  self-control — it 
was  a  thing  unknown  to  either  of  them — so  they  reached 
Garswood  without  exchanging  a  word  on  the  journey. 
Their  coming  home  was  quite  unexpected,  consequently 
there  was  no  rejoicing.  It  was  night,  too,  and  cold.  Sir 
Owen  was  not  well  pleased  at  their  reception,  although  he 
had  expressly  forbidden  any  one  to  write. 

But  Violet's  spirits  rose  again  when  she  found  herself  in 
the  magnificent  mansion.  After  all,  her  husband  might  be 
coarse  and  bad-tempered,  but  she  was  mistress  of  those 
superb  rooms.  This  was  her  house.  She  was  to  live  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  luxury,  with  troops  of  liveried  servants  at 
her  call.  Still  she  did  not  say  to  herself  now  that  it  was  all 
hers.  She  was  beginning  to  understand  that  for  her  every- 
thing depended  on  the  humor  of  her  husband.  It  was  not 
all  hers,  but  she  was  at  liberty  to  enjoy  it.  She  w 
pleased  that  Sir  Owen  recovered  his  good-humor,  and  the 
first  evening  they  spent  together  at  Garswood  was  perhaps 
the  happiest  they  ever  had  there. 

On  the  morrow  Sir  Owen  found  a  hundred  things  that 
required  his  attention.;  nevertheless,  he  was  thoughtful 
about  his  young  wife. 

"You  will  like  to  see  your  mother  and  father,  Violet."  he 
said.     "Order   the    earn  a. -re    when  you  like.     I  cannot    go 
with  you,  but  I  will  come  for  you.     You  bought  some  pres- 
ents for  them,  did  you  not '."' 
'ie  answered. 

She  looked  wistfully  at  him.  It  was  her  first  visit  sineo 
her  marriage,  and  she  would  have  liked  him  to  be  with 
her,  but  she  was  beginning  to  understand  that  she  must 
not  interfere  with  his  arrangements.  She  could  not  resist 
saying  : 

14  I  should  enjoy  it  so  much  more  if  you  were  with  me, 
Owen." 

>h,  no,  you  would  not !"  he  laughed,  carelessly.     "  ^  "'i 
only  fancy  so.     Y<>u  and  your  mother  will  have  so  much  to 
talk    about   that   1  really  could   not  stand   it,  you  k- 
couid    not.  indeed.     I    will    be    there    in    the   cveiun. 
will  drive  you  hack  home." 

She  knew  that  to  say  more  would  be  quite  usel< 
made  the  he<t  ,,r  the  arrangement.     After  all.  t! 
many   delights    before    her.     She   had  a   superb   costume, 
trimmed  \vitl-=  one  of  the  g 

terpieces — and  she  was  t->  wear  that  tor  the  hrst  time.    Her 


158  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

heart  beat  as  she  thought  of  the  pleasure  of  driving  in  her 
magnificent  carriage  through  the  streets  of  Lilford,  dressed 
in  her  Parisian  costume. 

"I  hope  that  I  shall  meet  Lady  Rolf  e,"  she  said,  "just 
for  the  pleasure  of  cutting  her." 

She  drove  at  once  to  the  Limes,  and  was  met  with  the 
kindest  of  welcomes. 

"  I  should  have  gone  to  meet  you,  Violet,  had  I  known 
that  you  were  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Haye. 

But  Lady  Chevenix  thought  that  under  the  circumstances 
it  was  just  as  well  she  had  not  come. 

They  went  to  the  drawing-room  together.  Francis  Haye 
was  more  of  an  invalid  than  usual  that  day,  and  his  daugh- 
ter, on  hearing  that  he  was  asleep,  would  not  have  him  dis- 
turbed. 

"Let  us  have  a  long  talk,  mamma,1'  she  said.  "I  have 
so  much  to  tell  you." 

They  sat  down  to  exchange  confidences,  and  Mrs.  Haye 
almost  trembled  with  delight  as  she  looked  at  her  daugh- 
ter. 

"  How  well  you  look,  Violet !"  she  said.  "  What  a  superb 
dress,  and  how  it  becomes  you  !  Are  you  very  happy,  my 
dear?" 

"  As  happy  as  other  people,  I  suppose,  mamma.  I  am 
very  rich,  and  that  must  mean  that  I  am  very  happy.  It 
will  take  me  a  whole  day  to  show  you  my  dresses  and  jew- 
els." 

"  Will  you  stand  up,  Violet  t  I  feel  quite  sure  that  you 
have  grown,  or  is  it  the  new  style  of  dress  that  suits  you  ?" 

Violet  stood  up. 

"I  have  grown,  mamma,"  she  answered.  "You  know  I 
am  only  just  twenty ;  I  may  grow  taller  still. " 

"You  are  quite  tall  enough  to  be  graceful,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Haye,  and  her  eyes  lingered  proudly  on  the  lovely 
face  with  its  dainty  bloom,  so  young,  so  fresh  and  fair,  and 
on  the  graceful  figure  that  was  shown  to  such  advantage 
by  the  costly  dress  that  swept  the  ground.  *"  You  have  im- 
proved very  much,  Violet,"  she  added. 

In  that  she  was  right ;  Violet  had  a  grace  and  refinement 
that  gave  her  an  additional  charm. 

They  talked  long  and  not  unhappily.  Presently  Violet 
produced  her  presents.  Mrs.  Haye  went  into  a  rapture 
about  a  dress  of  Genoa  velvet  and  some  superb  Mechlin 
lace.  After  that  Violet  began  to  inquire  about  her  old 
friends. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  159 

Mrs.  Haye  had  many  little  facts  to  relate  about  all  of 

them. 

"  Mamma,  "  said  Lady  Chevenix,  with  a  slight  flush  on 
her  face,  "  what  do  they  say  in  Lilford  about  my  marriage 
and  me  •:" 

"  What  can  they  say,  my  dear?  Every  one  envies  you, 
every  one  talks  about  your  wonderful  niarri. 

Violet   took   up   the  rich  tassels  of   her  dress  and  pi 
with  them.    She  never  raised  her  eyes  to  her  mother's  faee. 

"But  do  they  —  I  mean,  have  they  said  that  I  did  wn 

"Wrong!"  cried  Mrs.  Have.  "Why  should  they?  Which 
<jf  them  would  not  have  done  the  same  thing!  Which  of 
them  would  not  be  pleased  to  do  the  same  wrong?" 

Lady  Chevenix  looked  relieved. 

"I  was  afraid  they  would  say  1  had  acted  unfairly,"  she 
said,  slowly.  "Mamma,  how  are  the  Lonsdales  '.  I  low  is 
Felix  ?" 

There  was  a  brief  silence  before  the  question  "was  an- 
swered, and  then  Mrs.  Haye  told  her  wonderful  story. 

"You  have  never  heard  of  such  a  change  of  fortune.  Vio- 
let," she  said  ;  "it  is  almost  as  wonderful  as  your  own  ;  I 
can  hardly  understand  it.  The  Lonsdales  seem  to  have  all 
the  business  of  the  town  now,  and  of  the  county,  too.  They 
1  cannot  tell  how  many  clerks  ;  they  give  jrraud  din- 
ner-parties ;  and,  what  seems  to  me  stranger  still,  tin. 
frequently  invited  to  Bramber  Towers." 

"We  shall  visit  there,  1  suppose,"  remarked  Lady  (': 
nix.    "I  am  very  pleased,  indeed,  to  hear  all  this,  mamma; 
if  any  family  ever  did  deserve  good  fortune  they  did.    /hey 
are  reco^ni/.ed  by  the  county  now,  I  sup; 

"Yes,  quite.  Lady  Bolfe  has  taken  them  up.  I  hear 
nothing  but  the  Lonsdales." 

There  was  silence  again  for  some  minutes,  and  then  Vio- 
let said,  slowly  : 

"  And  Felix,  mamma  —  have  you  seen  him  since  my  mar- 


"No,  not  once,  my  dear."  was  Mrs.  1  [aye's  reply.  "I 
need  hardly  say  that  be  has  never  lieen  ' 

"  Do  they  s.:iv  -do  you  know,  if  lie  thought  much  of  it? 
Did  he  make  a  irn  -it  trouble  of  it,  mamma  .'"  she  asked. 

"1  cannot  say,"  replied  the  cautious  mother-,  "I  have 
never  heard  the  subject  mentioned." 

Lady  Chevenix  was  silent  again.  After  a  while  she  said, 
quickly  : 

"I  should  like  to  ask  you  one  quest  ion  moj-e.^  Does  Felix 
—  has  he  found  any  one  else  to  care  about  \ 


160  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  I  have  not  heard  so.  Violet,  my  dear,  you  have  every 
blessing  the  world  can  give ;  do  not  think  about  him.  And, 
if  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  not  talk  about  him—- 
Sir Owen  might  not  like  it. " 

"  I  shall  be  careful,  mamma — I  shall  not  speak  of  him ; 
but  I  wanted  to  hear  about  him  just  once." 

She  said  no  more  then,  but  as  she  sat  in  the  familiar  room 
she  thought  a  great  deal  of  him  —it  was  impossible  to  help 
it.  .The  quick  eyes  noted  how  completely  every  trace  of 
him  had  been  removed  ;  the  books  that  he  had  given  her, 
the  pictures,  were  all  gone. 

u  They  need  not  have  banished  everything,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

Presently  her  father  awoke ;  he  was  delighted  beyond 
measure  to  see  her  looking  so  well  and  so  beautiful. 

Later  on  Sir  Owen  came,  and  they  spent  a  pleasant  hour 
\Jt<$gVfcher.  But  there  was  a  dreamy  look  on  the  lovely  face, 
a  sowjned Jlght  in  the  clear  eyes ;  she  could  not  help  think- 
ing orrBir  V^W>riljBrt  girlish  life  that  had  been  so  simply 
happy.  Felix  u  part  of  that  life,  and  she  could 

not  help  remembering  Htm  when  she  thought  of  it. 

She  enjoyed  herself,  she  laughed  and  talked,  she  told  gay 
anecdotes  of  her  triumphs  in  Paris,  but,  as  she  quitted  the 
house,  she  carefully  avoided  going  near  the  bare  lilac 
bushes,  or  lingering  for  a  moment  at  the  garden  gate.  As 
she  drove  home  she  said  to  herself  : 

"I  do  not  think  I  shall  go  to  the  Limes  very  often.  After 
all,  the  pain  is  as  great  as  the  pleasure." 

But  she  did  not  own  what  the  pain  was. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
SIR   OWEN'S   MOODS. 

During  the  next  few  days  Lady  Chevenix  was  occupied 
in  arranging  all  the  beautiful  ornaments,  pictures,  and 
etatues  she  had  brought  with  her  from  abroad  Si^  had 
her  own  apartments  to  arrange ;  she  had  to  superintend 
the  putting  away  of  the  superb  garments  that  she  had  pur- 
chased in  Paris,  of  all  the  things  she  had  brought  with  her 
from  her  home.  Among  the  treasures  of  her  girlhood  \\  as 
ood  writing-desk.  On  it  she  had  written  all 
her  lovo-letters ;  in  it  she  kept  every  love-letter  she  had  re- 
ceived, and  she  rememebred  now  that  she  had  not  de- 
stroyed them  before  her  marriage,  and  that  she  ought  to 
have  done  so.  She  was  alone  in  the  sumptuous  room  "<hat 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  161 

was  her  boudoir — a  room  hung  with  blue  silk  and  lace, 
which  had  a  rich  carpet  and  magnificent  furniture  of  ebony 
and  blue  satin ;  costly  pictures  lined  the  walls,  rare  flowers 
stood  in  beautiful  jardinieres.  The  apartment  was  perfect 
in  its  way,  and  the  golden-haired  girl  who  stood  in  it  looked 
like  a  fitting  occupant. 

She  took  out  a  little  key  and  opened  the  desk.  How  well 
she  remembered  the  perfume  of  violets— the  faint,  sweet 
perfume  that  she  had  always  liked  so  much.  There  lay  the 
great  bundle  of  letters  tied  with  blue  ribbon— letters  on 
which  a  life  of  love  and  passion  had  been  wa.sted  ;  there, 
too,  lay  the  portrait  that  Felix  had  given  her  when  lie  came 
home  from  college — a  portrait  that  had  seemed  to  her  one 
of  the  finest  works  of  art.  She  would  not  open  the  letters  ; 
it  would  be  folly  to  irritate  old  wounds.  She  would  burn 
them  ;  she  ought  to  have  burned  them  before  her  marriage, 
but  her  mind  had  been  in  such  a  whirl  then  she  had  not 
thought  of  it. 

She  went  to  the  fire-place  and  stirred  the  fire  into  a 
bright  flame.  She  had  not  thought  what  she  was  about  to 
do  would  pain  her — it  had  seemed  an  easy  thing  to  burn 
old  letters,  but  when  she  placed  the  first  bundle  in  the 
midst  of  the  flames,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  burning 
a  living  thing.  Alas  for  the  love  wasted  in  them,  the  pas- 
sion, the  pathos  !  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  torturing 
Felix  again ;  the  hiss  of  the  flames  was  like  a  reproachful 
voice.  Still  it  must  be  done.  One  after  another  she  threw 
them  all  in,  until  the  last  was  destroyed.  By  that  time 
the  color  had  died  from  her  face,  and  her  hands  trembled. 

Then  she  came  to  the  portrait;  of  course  she  must  de- 
stroy it.  And  what  was  that  folded  so  carefully  in  the 
tissue-paper  near  it?  A  spray  of  lilac,  withered  and  dead. 
She  remembered  the  day  and  the  hour  when  it  had  l><en 
gathered.  She  took  the  portrait  in  her  hands  :  there  could 
be  no  harm  in  looking  at  it  for  the  last  time.  The  noble, 
handsome,  frank  young  face-ho\v  she  had  loved  it  once. 
How  those  eyes  had  watched  h  r — how  those  lips  had 
kissed  and  worshiped  her  !  It  must  go.  She  looked  at  it 
intently  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  she  held  it  over  the 
flames,  but  she  could  not  destroy  it — she  could  n< 
the  flames  leaping  round  that  face.  It  was  impossible. 
She  wrapped  up  the  portrait  quickly,  and  locked  it  out  of 
sight. 

White  and  breathless  with  emotion,  her  hands  trembling, 
her  heart  beating,  she  looked  up  suddenly  as  her  husband 
entered  the  room. 


162  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Violet?"  he  cried.  "Are  you  ill? 
You  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost. " 

"  I  have  seen  one,"  she  replied,  slowly. 

"  What  have  you  been  burning  ?  The  grate  is  full  of 
burned  paper." 

She  looked  at  him  with  wistful  eyes.  Their  expression 
did  not  please  him. 

u  I  have  been  burning  all  the  old  letters  I  found  in  my 
writing-desk,"  she  replied. 

Perhaps  she  had  an  idea  that  he  would  say  something 
kind  to  her,  but  he  laughed  contemptuously. 

"  What  sentimental  simpletons  women  are !  Are  you 
going  to  keep  that  shabby  little  desk  here  ?  It  spoils  the 
room,"  he  said. 

"  I  thought  it  quite  a  grand  piece  of  furniture  once,"  she 
replied. 

"Did  you!  Your  ideas  have  altered  on  many  subjects, 
no  doubt.  I  came  to  ask  you  to  ride  out  with  me. " 

Her  head  ached  with  repressed  emotion,  but  she  dared 
not  refuse.  She  had  learned  one  lesson  already,  and  that 
was  that  she  must  keep  her  husband  in  a  good  humor  if 
possible.  Now  that  the  novelty  and  restraint  of  her  pres- 
ence were  wearing  off  a  little,  he  was  beginning  to  indulge 
in  fits  of  temper  that  startled  her.  She  dressed  and  went 
out  with  him. 

"Why  do  you  always  select  the  Oldstone  Road?"  she 
asked  him. 

"Because  I  like  Oldstone  far  better  than  Lilford.  Most 
of  my  property  lies  in  Oldstone.  I  intend  to  go  to  Oldstone 
Church  when  I  go  to  church  at  all,  and  I  shall  patronize 
Oldstone  generally." 

A  painful  sense  of  disappointment  stole  over  her,  but  she 
dared  not  express  her  feelings.  She  had  pictured  herself, 
in  all  the  pride  of  her  new  state,  rustling  in  her  costly  silk 
up  the  old-fashioned  aisle  of  the  dear  old  church  at  Lilford, 
to  which  all  her  old  friends  went.  She  would  have  liked 
to  see  Felix  again,  to  see  how  he  looked  and  whether  he 
had  altered.  She  wondered  what  he  would  think  of  her 
in  her  new  grandeur,  and  felt  curious  as  to  where  and  how 
they  would  meet.  Then  she  remembered  their  terrible  part- 
ing, and  said  to  herself  that  she  must  not  think  of  him. 

She  never  saw  him.  She  went  several  times  to  Lilford — 
more  than  once  she  drove  past  Vale  House,  but  she  never 
saw  him.  Then  Garswood  filled  with  guests,  and  her  time 
was  no  longer  her  own.  She  ought  to  have  been  perfectly 
happy.  She  was  mistress  of  the  most  magnificent  home  in 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  163 

the  county;  she  had  every  luxury  that,  money  could  pur- 
chase; she  was  feted,  admired,  flattered;  she  received  un- 
wonted homage.  The  local  papers  wen-  full  of  descriptions 
of  the  gayeties  and  amusements  going  on  at  Garswood, 
and  gave  a  list  of  the  fashionable  visitors  gathered  there, 
and  every  now  and  then  came  some  reference  to  11  it- 
beauty  of  Lady  Chevenix.  The  ladies  of  the  neighborhood, 
reading  this,  looked  at  each  other  in  wonder,  as  though 
they  would  have  said,  "Can  this  be  the  girl  we  knew  as 
Violet  Haye  ?" 

For  Lady  Chevenix  held  up  her  head  with  the  highest 
among  them.     She  never  ignored  the  past — she  s< 
with' >ut  hesitation;  she  talked  of  her  home,  the  Lira 
her  parents,  of  all  her  old  Lilford  friends,  with  the  exec]) 
tion  of  the  Lonsdales,  whom  she  appeared  to  have  quite 
forgotten.     But  though  she  never  named  them  she  thought 
of  them,  and  when  she  read  the  brilliant  account  of  all  the 
festivities,  she  knew  that  Felix  would  read   the   same,  that 
he  would  hear  them  talked  about.     One  thing  she  did  won- 
der at,  and  that  was  why  he  had  never  contrived  to  sec  her. 
She  had  imagined  that  he  would  make   some  effort,  but  ho 
had  made  none.     Christmas  came  and   went;    the   snow- 
drops and  the  crocuses  came,  the  blue  violets  peeped  out, 
and  the  desire  of  her  heart  was  given  to  Lady  Chevenix. 
She  went  to  London  and  made  her  debut  at  court. 

Then  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  readied  the  climax  of 
all  happiness  and  grandeur.  Sir  Owen  possessed  a  hand- 
some mansion  in  Belgra via,  and  the  season  they  spent  in 
town  was  one  long  scene  of  uninterrupted  gayety  and  ex- 
citement. Young,  surpassingly  beautiful,  graceful,  Lady 
Chevenix  soon  won  a  place  for  herself  in  the  highest  and 
most  exclusive  circle.  She  was  idolized  ;  her  wealth,  her 
diamonds,  her  superb  mansion,  her  grand  parties,  were 
subjects  of  public  comment.  But  after  a  time  she  found 
that,  although  she  was  liked  and  flattered,  her  husband  was 
simply  detested.  No  one  seemed  to  care  for  him  ;  his  man- 
ners were  so  coarse  that  when  she  contrasted  him  with 
other  men  of  his  own  rank  and  position  she  was  ashamed 
of  him;  she  read  intense  dislike  and  aversion  to  him  in  the 
fa<-cs  of  the  people  whom  she  liked  best  and  of  whom  she 
most  approved.  Thoughtless,  laughing  young  men  said  to 
her: 

"Come  without  your  husband,  or  we  shall  not  enjoy  our- 
selves." 

When  she  particularly  pressed  any  lady  to  come  to  see 
her  for  some  special  purpose  the  answer  always  was  : 


164  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  Well,  tell  me  when  you  will  be  quite  alone,  and  I  will 
come." 

She  found  that  Sir  Owen  and  herself  were  seldom  invited 
twice  to  the  same  place,  and  it  dawned  upon  her  very 
slowly  that  she  should  never  be  what  she  aspired  to  be,  a 
queen  of  society,  because  she  had  a  drawback  in  the  shape 
of  her  own  husband.  She  was  slow  in  reaching  that  con- 
•clusion,  but  it  was  a  correct  one,  and  she  studied  him,  to 
find  out,  if  she  could,  how  it  was  that  he  made  himself  so 
odious,  so  disliked. 

She  could  not  deny  that  his  face  was  dark  and  almost 
sinister-looking,  that  his  manner  and  carriage  were  awk- 
ward, that  he  had  an  unpleasant  voice ;  the  outward  ap- 
pearance of  the  man  was,  however,  the  best  part  of  him. 
No  one  could  have  called  him  a  gentleman  ;  he  was  selfish 
and  brutal,  and  so  egotistical  that  in  company  no  person 
ever  had  a  chance  of  speaking  but  himself.  He  had  two 
moods — he  was  either  familiar  and  boasted  until  every 
man  present  felt  a  great  desire  to  put  him  out  of  the  room, 
or  he  was  so  sullen  that  to  look  at  him  was  like  looking  at 
a  great  black  cloud.  That  was  Sir  Owen  in  his  sober  mo- 
ments, but,  as  the  novel  restraint  of  his  young  wife's  pres- 
ence wore  off,  he  fell  more  frequently  into  his  old  fatal 
habit  of  drinking. 

At  first  he  carefully  concealed  it  from  her,  for  in  his 
coarse  fashion  he  loved  her.  A  woman  of  more  noble  soul 
perhaps  would  have  made  a  better  man  of  him — Avotild  have 
helped  him  to  overcome  his  bad  habits  and  acquire  good 
ones.  The  woman  who  had  married  him,  not  for  love,  but 
simply  for  his  money,  had  but  one  thought — it  was  to  keep 
him  in  a  good  temper  while  it  was  feasible,  and  when  it 
•was  not  to  kee"  out  of  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FACE  TO  FACE. 

The  season  was  over,  and  Sir  Owen  and  Lady  Chevenix 
•were  expected  at  Garswood.  By  that  time  Sir  Owen,  to 
use  his  own  expression,  was  himself  again ;  the  novelty 
and  restraint  of  his  new  life  had  worn  off,  all  his  natural 
characteristics  were  in  full  play,  and  there  were  times 
when  his  young  wife  wished  herself  dead.  She  was  not 
often  driven  to  such  despair,  but  occasionally  he  was 
terrible.  As  a  whole  she  enjoyed  her  life.  She  had  money 
•and  everything  that  she  wished  for ;  she  enjoyed  her  mag 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  16& 

nificent  home,  with  all  its  attendant  luxuries ;  she  was  by 
universal  consent  queen  of  the  county. 

For  some  time  there  was  ill- will  between  herself  and 
Lady  Rolfe.  She  did  not  wish  to  ask  either  that  lady  or 
her  daughter  Lavinia  to  Garswood,  but  after  a  few  words 
from  her  husband  she  was  compelled  to  give  way.  She  had 
the  good  sense  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  Lady  Rulfe 
became  a  frequent  visitor  at  Garswood. 

During  all  this  time  Violet  had  never  once  seen  Felix. 
She  had  heard  of  him  continually — he  was  rising  rapidly  in 
the  world.  She  heard  old  Colonel  Riddell  speak  of  him 
one  evening  when  she,  with  Sir  Owen,  went  over  to  a  for- 
mal and  stately  dinner-party  at  Lady  Rolfe's. 

"Mark  my  words,"  said  the  colonel,  "the  leading  man  in 
this  part  of  the  world  is,  or  very  soon  will  be,  young  Felix 
Lonsdale,  the  lawyer's  son.  I  have  watched  him  with  in- 
terest. He  will  be  a  leader  yet.  He  acts  as  the  earl's  a-vnt 
now,  and  Lord  Arlington  has  implicit  confidence  in  him.  [ 
prophesy  that  with  the  earl's  interest  he  will  he  returned 
as  member  for  the  borough,  and  that  once  in  Parliament 
we  shall  hear  of  him." 

One  or  two  others  agreed  with  the  colonel.  The  face  of 
Lady  Chevenix  grew  crimson  when  she  heard  her  husband 
give  a  little  insulting,  sneering  laugh.  She  saw  with  dread 
that  he  had  drank  too  much  wine. 

"I  have  beaten  him  once,"  said  Sir  Owen,  "and  I  will 
beat  him  again  ;  if  he  goes  in  for  one  interest  I  will  go  in 
for  the  other.'' 

For  his  wife's  sake  no  one  answered  him,  and  Lady  Rolfe 
gave  the  signal  for  the  ladies  to  withdraw. 

"  I  shall  never  go  out  to  dine  again  if  I  have  to  meet 
man,"  said   the  old  colonel,  who   was  an   aristocrat  •• 
sang.     "  Such  men  ought  all  to  be  shot.     What  could 
lovely  woman  have  been  thinking  of   to   marry  him  .'"—for 
the  colonel  was  far  above  the  scandal  and  gossip  of  the 

neighborhood,  none  of  it  was  ever  brought  to  him. 

here,  were  times  in  her  brilliant,  luxurious  life   when 
La.dy  Chevenix  was  weary  of  it  all,  and  longed    1 
face  of  a  true  friend.     She  had  called   mi  Kve    Lester,  but 
Eve  had  declined   to  see  her,  and   "Aunt  Jane"  had 
rampant  on  the  occasion. 

Lady  Chevenix   sat  in  the  best   parlor  at  the  Ontlands, 
looking  very  lovely,  dressed  in  sheeny  silk  and   mar  - 
lace,  when  'tl.e   elder  lady  came  in  to  her,  more- erect  aud 
uncompromising  than  ever. 

"My  niece  declines  t<>  see  you,  Lady  Chevenix,'  she  said, 


166  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  and  I  think  she  is  quite  right.  You  jilted  our  best  friend, 
and,  naturally  enough,  we  take  his  side.  Do  not  call  again 
— Eve  does  not  care  to  know  you. " 

Perhaps  in  all  her  life  Lady  Chevenix  had  never  felt  so 
humiliated.  There  was  no  polite  disguise  about  the  re- 
mark, no  conventional  vail.  "She  had  jilted  their  best 
friend,  and  they  did  not  care  to  know  her."  Even  Evelyn 
cried  out  in  wonder  when  she  heard  what  her  aunt  had 
said. 

"  Xo  half  truths  for  me,"  said  that  uncompromising  lady. 
"If  every  one  told  the  truth  this  would  be  a  different 
world." 

Never  had  Lady  Chevenix  felt  so  humbled  :  even  her 
magnificent  carriage  seemed  to  have  grown  small  and  in- 
significant when  she  returned  to  it :  while  the  very  ser- 
vants seemed  to  know  that  she  had  been  treated  with  scorn 
and  contumely.  She  had  hoped  to  have  heard  something 
of  Felix  from  Evelyn,  but,  if  Eve  would  not  see  her,  why, 
there  was  an  end  of  it. 

She  had  not  encountered  her  old  lover  once.  She  wished 
very  much  to  see  him.  Why  should  they  not  be  friends? 
She  had  no  desire  for  anything  more  than  the  most  com- 
mon form  of  friendship.  She  remembered  his  bright,  sunny 
temper,  his  sweet  smile,  his  wonderful  good  humor,  his 
cheerful  presence.  She  felt  that  it  would  be  a  comfort  and 
a  pleasure  to  see  him  at  times  after  the  sullen  silence  that 
often  lasted  for  days — to  hear  a  few  bright  words.  She 
found  herself  often  wondering  when  and  where  she  should 
meet  him  again.  At  last  the  time  came. 

Lady  Maude  Bramber  had  been  absent  from  home  for 
some  few  days,  and  during  that  time  the  earl  had  sent  out 
invitations  for  a  dinner-party.  If  he  and  his  countess  had 
heard  anything  of  the  )»ve  story  of  Felix  and  Violet,  they 
had  completely  forgotten  it.  The  earl  sent  out  the  invita- 
tions, and  one  went  to  (inrswood  for  Sir  Owen  and  Lady 
Chevenix,  and  one  to  Felix  Lonsdale.  Lord  Arlington  very 
seldom  had  a  large  dinner-party  now  without  inviting 
Felix ;  his  brilliant  conversational  powers  made  him  a 
most  welcome  guest. 

"Felix  is  a  host  in  himself,"  the  earl  would  say,  laugh- 
ingly. 

He  had  not  the  faintest  idea,  when  he  sent  out  his  invita- 
tions, of  having  done  wrong.  Lady  Maude,  to  whom  Felix 
had  revealed  his  love-story,  did  not  return  until  the  day  of 
the  dinner-party,  and  then  it  was  too  late  to  send  a  note  or 
message  anywhere. 


WEAKER  Til  AS  A    U'OMAX  167 

"They  must  meet  some  time."  she  said  to  herself,  in  dis- 
may ;  "perhaps  it  will  be  better  here  than  elsewhere.  I 
shall  be  at  hand  to  help  him  if  he  requires  help." 

Si  10  said  nothing  to  any  one,  but  awaited  the  course  of 
events. 

The  dinner  was  given  in  honor  of  Lord  Ray  den,  a  great 
statesman,  who  was  visiting  the  earl,  and  Lord  Arlington 
was  both  pleased  and  proud  to  introduce  his  young  and 
gifted  proteyc  to  his  friend.  Colonel  Riddell  was  invited — 
he  would  not  have  gone  had  he  known  that  lie  was  to  meet 
Sir  Owen,  whom  he  detested — also  Lady  Roll'e,  her  daugh- 
ter Lavinia,  and  several  other  friends. 

It  was  a  warm  day,  and  the  green  shade  of  the  foliage  all 
about  Bramber  Towers  was  cool  and  inviting.  The  dinner 
hour  was  fixed  for  seven. 

"  There  is  no  keeping  people  indoors  on  these  fine  sum- 
mer nights,"  said  the  earl,  "so  we  may  as  well  be  pre- 
pared to  spend  the  evening  out-of-doors." 

La*ly  Maude  only  hoped  the  evening  would  pass  as  pleas- 
antly as  her  father  seemed  to  anticipate.  She  alone  knew 
what  rival  interests  would  be  at  play.  She  would  have 
been  better  pleased  had  there  been  time  to  send  a  nit 
ger  to  Felix  to  tell  him  who  were  to  be  present,  but  there 
was  not  time.  She  resolved  to  dress  early  and  wait  for 
him.  He  should  not  be  seen  to  disadvanta^".  She  knew 
that  he  was  coining  early :  he  had  some  papers  that  her 
father  wished  to  see,  and  they  had  arranged 

Lady  Maude  was  the  first  in  the  drawing  room,  and,  to 
her  great  delight,  Felix  came  in  soon  afterward.  She  was 
wonderfully  prou.l  of  him.  As  Lady  Maude  looked  at  him 
she  thought  to  herself  that  there  could  not  be  a  liner,  hand- 
somer, or  nobler-looking  man  in  England  than  he  \\ . 

There  was  a  warm  friendship  between  the  two.  Felix 
would  have  done  anything  in  the  world  for  the  noble,  beau- 
tiful woman  who  had  seemed  to  him  like  an  angel  oi 
fort  in  the  darkest  hour  of  his  life  ;  he  had  the  greatest 
reverence,  the  greatest  esteem  f.>r  her;  he  knew  that  he 
owed  all  his  piod  fortune  to  her  kindly  influence  with  the 
earl.  And  Lady  Maude  was  very  fond  of  him.  She 
watched  his  career  with  pride  and  hope;  she  had  a  feeling 
almost  of  proprietorship  in  him.  but  for  her  lie  might  have 
^uiie  to  the  bad.  S<»  now  she  waited  for  him,  ami,  when  he 
had  spoken  a  K  w  words  of  .^reetin^  \«  her,  she  said  : 

"I  was  waiting  for  you.  Mr.  Lonsdale  ;  I  have  something 
to  tell  you.  I  know  you  are  a  brave  man  ;  this  evening  I 
shall  see  your  bravery  put  to  a  s.  \ ,  i  .•  ; 


168  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

He  could  not  imagine  what  she  meant,  but  he  said  that 
he  hoped  whatever  might  be  the  test  she  would  not  find 
him  wanting. 

"1  have  no  fear  as  to  that,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "Mr. 
Lonsdale,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  Lady  Chevenix  will  be 
here  this  evening.  Papa  made  up  his  list  of  invitations 
during  my  absence,  and  I  could  do  nothing." 

She  was  glad  that  they  were  alone.  His  face  grew  white 
as  death — so  white  that  she  was  alarmed  ;  he  stood  quite 
still,  and  she  saw  his  hands  tremble.  She  talked  on  that 
he  might  have  time  to  recover  himself. 

"  I  would  have  prevented  it  had  it  been  possible,  but  it 
was  not.  You  have  never  seen  her  since  her  marriage, 
and  I  am  told  that  she  has  grown  doubly  beautiful.  Still, 
if  you  do  not  feel  equal  to  meeting  her,  you  shall  not. " 

She  saw  the  great  effort  that  he  made  to  recover  himself. 
He  succeeded ;  the  color  returned  to  his  face ;  he  stilled 
the  trembling  of  his  hands  ;  he  smiled  as  he  answered  her : 

"  You  are  so  good  to  me,  Lady  Maude,  that  I  am  at  a 
loss  how  to  thank  you  for  giving  me  this  warning.  I 
needed  it.  If  I  had  met  Lady  Chevenix  suddenly  I  should 
liave  been  terribly  embarrassed ;  now  I  am  master  of  my- 
self." 

"  And  will  keep  so  ?"  said  Lady  Maude,  earnestly. 

"And  will  keep  so,"  he  repeated. 

Then  the  countess  joined  them,  and  presently  one  or  two 
more  entered  the  room. 

"Look,  "said  Lady  Maude,  as  she  touched  Felix's  arm 
gently. 

He  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  and  beheld  Violet, 
so  changed  from  the  lovely  laughing  girl  who  had  kissed 
him  and  quarreled  with  him  twenty  times  in  an  hour  that 
he  hardly  recognized  her.  This  was  an  imperially  beauti- 
ful woman,  on  whose  white  breast  and  white  arms  shone 
jewels  worth  a  king's  ransom — a  woman  whose  face  was  so 
peerlessly  lovely  that  it  dazzled  one  as  did  the  light  of  the 
sun. 

Violet  wore  one  of  the  triumphs  of  "art  that  she  had 
brought  with  her  from  Paris ;  and  nothing  could  have  been 
devised  to  enhance  her  loveliness  more.  Her  dress  was 
composed  of  some  pale  green  fabric,  soft  and  shining,  cov- 
ered with  clouds  of  white  lace  looped  up  with  water-lilies, 
and  in  her  golden  hair  nestled  a  delicate,  wax-like  camellia. 
She  wore  a  parure  of  diamonds  and  emeralds.  Her  white 
shoulders  and  well-molded  arms  helped  to  compose  a  pic- 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  169" 

ture  that  no  man  could  have  seen  without  feeling  his  heart 
beat  the  quicker  for  it. 

Lord  Arlington  went  forward  to  meet  her.  Like  a  foil 
to  her  bright  and  radiant  loveliness,  her  dark-browed  hus- 
band stood  by  her  side. 

"  You  are  right, "  said  Felix  to  Lady  Maude ;  "  she  is  a 
thousand  times  more  beautiful." 

Lady  Chevenix  did  not  notice  Lady  Maude  Brambor 
leave  his  side  and  go  up  to  her.  When  she  had  exchanged 
a  few  words  with  her,  she  said  : 

"An  old  friend  of  yours,  Lady  Chevenix,  is  here  this 
evening."  And  once  more  the  two  who  had  parted  so 
tragically  stood  face  to  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  MEETING  IN  THE  GARDEN. 

Once  more  Violet  and  Felix  Lonsdale  stood  face  to  faro. 
They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence-.  To 
Felix  there  came  back  with  a  keen,  bitter  pain  the  memory 
of  his  passionate  farewell ;  to  Violet  there  came  the  sud- 
den, keen  conviction  that  she  was  looking  at  the  fa 
the  only  man  she  had  ever  cared  for.  Lady  .Maude  Arling- 
ton, much  as  she  disliked  the  brilliant  young  beauty,  felt 
pleased,  after  bringing  the  two  together,  that  she  had 
screened  Lady  Chevenix  from  observation,  for  she  trembled 
— her  face  Hushed  crimson,  and  then  gre\v  white. 

Felix  was  the  first  to  speak.  He  did  not  bold  out  his 
hands  in  greeting;  he  simply  bowed  and  murmured  some 
few  commonplace  words. 

"I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you,"  said  Lady  Chevenix, 
and  the  words  had  a  ring  of  truth  that  touched  both  listen- 
ers. 

With  her  usual  smiling  grace  Lady  Maude  said  : 

u  We  have  a  little  time  to  spare— would  you  like  to  look 
at  these  photographs?  They  are  quite  new,  and  finer  than 
anything  [  have  yet  seen.11 

They  sat  all  three  round  one   of   the   pretty   little    t 
that  were  covered  with  pictures  and  books.     Lad.v  * 
nix  turned  to  Felix  again. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  father  and  Mrs.  Lonsdale,  she 
said.  "Are  they  well  '." 

"They  are  f,uite  well,"  be  told  her,  but  he  made  no  re- 
sponse to  her  desire  of  seeing  them. 

"lie  does  not  care  at  all  about  seeing  me,"  she  thought; 


170  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  he  does  not  seem  in  the  least  degree  agitated  or  embar- 
rassed— he  has  forgotten  me, "  and,  as  the  thought  came  to 
her,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "He  never  could  have 
cared  so  very  much  for  me,"  she  said  to  herself ;  uhe  could 
not  really  have  grieved  about  losing  me. " 

She  looked  at  him — he  was  talking  in  a  lively  and  ani- 
mated strain  to  Lady  Maude.  She  wondered  to  herself  if 
this  calm,  proud,  handsome  man,  so  perfectly  well-bred, 
so  self-possessed,  talking  so  brilliantly  to  the  earl's  daugh- 
ter— if  this  could  really  be  the  same  ardent,  despairing 
young  lover  who  had  bidden  her  a  passionate  farewell.  He 
was  in  no  hurry  to  talk  to  her.  She  had  rather  pictured 
herself  as  having  to  hint  something  like  prudence  to  him  ; 
she  could  have  laughed  at  herself  for  the  notion. 

He  did  not  look  at  her  ;  she  doubted  even  whether  he  had 
noted  her  rich  dress,  her  shining  jewels.  When  she  spoke 
he  replied  with  polite  indifference,  with  well-bred  calm- 
ness, but  he  never  once  voluntarily  addressed  her.  It  was 
all  so  different  from  what  she  had  pictured  that  she  ex- 
perienced a  strange  sense  of  depression. 

Lady  Maude  was  compelled  to  leave  them  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  then  Lady  (Jhevenix  turned  to  Felix. 

"  How  strange  it  seems  that  we  should  meet  here,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  it  is  strange."  he  replied.  "I  am  very  often  here 
on  business — you,  I  presume,  come  equally  often  on  pleas- 
ure ?" 

"It  is  my  first  visit,"  she  said,  but  he  did  not  ask  the 
reason  of  that. 

"  How  cold,  how  indifferent,  he  is  to  me  1"  she  remarked 
to  herself.  "  No  one  would  ever  think  even  that  we  had 
been  friends.  If  he  would  say  something  reproachful  it 
would  be  better  than  this." 

But  there  was  no  thought  of  reproach  in  him.  He  spoke 
to  her  with  a  smile.  He  neither  sought  her  nor  avoided 
her.  His  conduct  was  such  that  she  might  have  been  a 
stranger  whom  he  had  met  for  the  first  time.  Then  came 
the  signal  for  dinner,  and  Lady  Chevenix  was  a  little  sur- 
prised to  find  that  Felix  took  down  Lady  Maude.  She  went 
down  with  the  earl,  and  Sir  Owen  escorted  Lavinia  Rolfe. 
Violet  was  so  placed  at  the  table  that  she  could  see  and  hear 
all  that  passed. 

Never  in  her  life  had  the  beautiful  Lady  (Shevenix  felt 
so  surprised.  She  had  always  heard  Felix  spoken  of  as 
being  clever  and  gifted,  but  she  had  never  dreamed  that  he 
was  really  the  genius  he  was.  When  \rith  her  he  had  sel- 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN,  171 

dora  spoken  of  anything  but  herself  and  his  great  love  for 
her.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  heard  him  converse  with 
intellectual  men,  who  all  seemed  to  look  up  to  him  as 
their  superior.  She  was  astounded.  The  great  statesman, 
Lord  Rayden,  talked  much  to  him,  and  the  earl  asked  his 
opinion. 

"It  does  me  good,"  said  Lord  Rayden,  "to  hear  such 
as  yours,  they  are  so  thoroughly  fresh,  clover,  and 
original.     We  must  have  you  on  our  side.     You  must  not 
go  over  to  the  enemy.'1 

Felix  had  a  natural  wit  that  made  his  conversation 
piquant  and  amusing.  Lord  Arlington  delighted  in  it. 
When  any  playful  attack  was  made  on  himself  he  would 
look  at  him  and  say  : 

"  I  shall  leave  you  to  answer  that,  Mr.  Lonsdale. " 

The  dinner  was  a  complete  success.  It  was  a  new  thing 
to  Lady  Chevenix,  intellectual  conversation  such  as  she 
was  listening  to.  She  looked  once  at  her  husband,  and 
she  saw  him  gazing  with  undisguised  admiration  at  Felix. 

Sir  Owen  said  little.  He  had  ideas  of  his  own  ;  on. 
that  talking  at  dinner-time  was  a  bore  rather  than  not ; 
people  sat  down  to  eat,  not  to  talk.  He  certainly  did  not 
contribute  much  to  the  general  entertainment.  Ho  dined 
well,  and  more  than  once  Violet  felt  something  like  dismay, 
as  she  saw  how  the  wineglasses  before  him  were  replen- 
ished. She  could  not  help  contrasting  the  two  men,  nor 
was  she  the  only  one  present  who  did  so.  Fc]i\  was  so 
bright,  so  handsome,  so  animated,  so  gifted  and  intellec- 
tual ;  he  was  a  leader  of  conversation  even  among  older 
and  wiser  men  than  himself,  for  he  had  the  ^ilt  <>f  pictur- 
esque language.  Sir  Owen,  coarse  and  heavy,  his  brain 
dulled  with  constant  drinking,  speaking  little,  but,  when 
lie  did  speak,  saying  something  almost  disagreeable,  was 
doltish  and  inert,  except  when  he  was  offensive.  Tin-re, 
could  have  been  no  greater  contrast  and  Lady  Chevenix 
saw  it.  To  herself  she  thought  how  Felix  would  be  appre- 
ciated and  understood  in  London,  how  eagerly  lie  would  bo 
sought — who  would  care  to  remember  that  he  was  th> 
of  a  country  lawyer  ?  Such  men  make  their  own  mark. 
Where  her  husband  would  not  be  tolerated,  Felix  would 
•••ived  with  open  arms. 

All  these  observations  she  made  to  herself,  as  she  e 
Lord  Arlington,  her    beautiful   face    wreathed  with  smiles. 
The  last  words  she  heard,  as  the  ladies  quitted  the   dining- 
room,  were  from  Lord  Kavden. 

"Tho  next  time  you  run"  up  to  London,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  he 


172  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

was  saying,  "  pray  come  and  see  me  ;  I  shall  be  delighted 
if  you  do,  and  I  will  show  you  the  very  article  in  the  news- 
paper of  which  we  are  speaking." 

And  in  her  own  mind  Lady  Chevenix  thought  that  such 
a  thing  as  an  invitation  from  the  eminent  statesman  would 
be  an  honor  Sir  Owen  would  never  attain. 

The  gentlemen  did  not  linger  long  over  their  wine.  Lord 
Arlington  saw  that  Sir  Owen  was  inclined  to  drink  freely  ; 
he  made  a  note  in  his  own  mind  that  it  should  be  some 
time  at  lea«u  before  that  gentleman  dined  with  him  again. 

As  his  lordship  had  foreseen,  the  outdoor  attractions 
proved  too  much  for  the  younger  guests.  The  earl  himself 
and  Lord  Eayden  sat  down  to  chess ;  Lady  Arlington,  Lady 
Kolfe,  Colonel  Riddell,  and  Sir  Owen  made  up  a  whist- 
table  ;  Lavinia  went  to  the  piano  ;  Lady  Maude  distributed 
her  attentions  equally,  and  most  of  the  younger  people 
•went  out  through  the  long  open  windows  on  to  the  wide 
terrace. 

The  evening  was  fragrant,  calm,  and  sweet;  far  away 
under  the  trees  the  glow-worms  were  beginning  to  shine,  a 
nightingale  was  singing  in  the  gardens,  the  faint  ripple  of 
fountains  filled  the  air,  the  rich  odor  of  roses  and  lilies 
ascended  like  a  cloud  of  perfume. 

One  by  one  the  guests  went  out.  Some  descended  the 
terrace-steps  into  the  rose  gardens  below ;  some  admired 
the  tints  in  the  west  left  by  the  sunset,  leaning  over  the 
stone  balustrades ;  others  wandered  into  the  beautiful 
grounds.  Lady  Maude  walked  for  a  short  time  with  Felix, 
and  then  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"You  can  amuse  yourself,"  she  said ;  "you  are  a  man  of 
resource.  I  must  go  to  that  unhappy  young  lordling  who 
is  feebly  trying  to  talk  to  Miss  Lloyd. " 

She  left  him,  and  Felix  turned  down  a  broad  path  wrhere 
the  acacia  trees  were  in  full  bloom.  Lady  Chevenix  saw 
him,  and  followed  him.  She  had  been  longing  for  the 
chance  of  speaking  a  few  words  to  him,  and  it  had  come  at 
last.  He  was  startled  when  a  shadow  fell  over  his  path 
and  a  sweet  voice  said  : 

"  Felix — Mr.  Lon  sdale — will  you  be  friends  with  me  ?" 

He  turned  round  in  amazement.  Violet  stood  before 
him,  looking  as  lovely  as  a  vision,  her  silk  dress  and  rich 
lace  trailing  around  her,  her  beauty  deepened  because  over 
her  white  neck  and  shoulders  she  had  thrown  a  silvery 
vail ;  it  fell  from  her  golden  head,  shadowing  the  fair  face. 

" I  have  alarmed  you,"  she  said;  "you  were  not  think- 
ing of  me." 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  173 

X 

"I  am  afraid,  to  use  a  lawyer's  phrase,  that  is  a  true  in- 
dictment," he  replied.  "  Lady  Chevenix,  I  must  plead  guilty. 
I  was  thinking  of  Lord  Rayden." 

"  And  I  was  thinking  of  you,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  returned,  indifferently.  "Lord 
Rayden  is  quite  a  new  type  of  man  to  me  ;  I  have  seen  no 
one  like  him." 

They  were  walking  down  the  path  together  now — he  had 
been    compelled    to    follow,  as   she    led.      The  white  B 
blossoms    fell    on   them;    the    evening  bree/e   was   full   of 
sweetness.     Lady   Chevenix  turned  to    him  with  her  old 
graceful  impetuosity. 

"1  do  not  waul;  to  talk  about  Lord  Rayden.  I  do  not  care 
to  hear  about  him ;  I  want  to  hear  of  yon." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said  again,  with  a  polite  bow. 

She  stamped  her  little  foot  on  the  ground  impatiently. 

"Do  not  be  so  polite  to  me,"  she  cried,  and  then  she 
seemed  suddenly  to  remember  herself.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
Felix,"  she  said,  "but  I  want  to  know  if  you  will  be 
friends  with  me?" 

"1  do  not  understand  you,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  replied, 
and  she  knew  there  was  nothing  but  indifferent  wonder  in 
ln's  voice. 

"You  .do  not  understand?  You  must  understand.  A 
child  would  know  what  I  meant.  Will  you  be  friends  with 

me  .'" 

She  stood  still  as  she  asked  him  the  question,  and  looked 
ii]>  at  him  with  wistful  eyes.  In  the  half-golden  light  IHT 
face  shone  out  clear  and  pure  as  a  star.  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  him. 

"Will  you  be  friends?"  she  repeated,  and  this  time  her 
lip  quivered. 

Me  did  not  touch  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him.  lie  had 
bidden  farewell  to  those  hands— their  least  touch  was  no 
longer  for  him. 

-  Do  you    mean,  Lady  Chevenix,  to  ask  me   if   I  will  be 
your  friend  i     I  do  not' sec  Hint  that  is  possible— you  I 
the  dill'erence  in  our  positions." 

"You  are  Lady  Maude's  friend,"  she  interrupted. 

"Yes,  thai    is   ,iatural.     I    have  business  relations  with 
Maude's  father.     It  is  quite  a  different  matter.  There 
never  can  be  much    friendship,  I  think,  between   people  of 
different  positions." 

The  tears  stood  in  h> 

"  I  did  not  think  you  could  have  spoken  so  to  me,  she 
said. 


174  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  I  am  unfortunate  if  I  have  spoken  impolitely  or  ab- 
ruptly," he  returned.  "Friendship  is  to  me  a  very  sacred 
thing — I  never  lightly  use  the  word — and  I  cannot  tout  say 
that  for  Lady  Chevenix  of  Garswood  and  a  very  hard- 
working lawyer  there  can  be  no  common  ground." 

"  I  have  known  you  all  my  life,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her.  He  did  not  speak.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  further  speech  would  be  imprudent.  Her  eyes  fell  be- 
fore the  clear,  honest  gaze ;  there  was  no  reproach  in  it, 
no  upbraiding,  but  it  reached  the  depths  of  her  soul. 

They  came  to  the  end  of  the  path  ;  he  did  not  turn  back. 
There  was  a  garden-chair ;  she  sat  down  upon  it,  and  he 
passed  on  with  a  low  bow. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  LONSDALES'    DECISION. 

Lady  Chevenix  and  Felix  Lonsdale  did  not  meet  again 
for  some  time.  Sir  Owen  had  not  made  a  very  favorable 
impression  at  Bramber  Towers.  The  earl  had  invited  him, 
with  his  beautiful  young  wife,  to  a  grand  ball,  but  Felix 
was  not  present,  and  Sir  Owen  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to 
drink  too  much,  and  then,  when  intoxicated,  to  use  coarse 
language. 

In  September  Sir  Owen  was  invited  to  be  present  at  a 
grand  political  banquet  given  at  Oldstone,  and  Felix  made 
one  of  the  most  telling  speeches  of  the  night.  It  was  so 
eloquent,  so  magnificent  in  its  true,  noble  ideas,  its  pictur- 
esque language,  that  he  became  popular ;  a  man  who  could 
speak  so  well  ought  to  be  in  Parliament,  the  leaders  said, 
and  it  seemed  very  probable  that  at  the  next  election  Felix 
would  stand  an  excellent  chance. 

Sir  Owen  was  startled ;  he  thought  a  great  deal  about 
"  young  Lonsdale. "  With  all  his  own  dense  stupidity,  he 
was  capable  of  admiring  great  talent  in  others.  Another 
thing  struck  him.  During  the  banquet  he  sat  next  to  Cap- 
tain Hill,  who  told  him  that  he  had  heard  Lord  Arlington 
say  that  the  wisest  action  of  his  life  was  the  placing  of  his 
affairs  in  the  hands  of  Darcy  and  Felix  Lonsdale.  Sir  Owen 
thought  a  great  deal  of  that ;  a  good,  clever,  trustworthy 
land  agent  was  a  person  he  had  long  desired  above  all 
others,  and,  if  the  Lonsdales  served  Lord  Arlington  so 
faithfully  they  would  perhaps  serve  him  in  a  like  manner. 
He  thought  over  it  some  days  before  he  mentioned  the  sub- 
ject to  his  wife. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  175 

He  knew  that  he  was  deficient  in  business  capacity.  In 
his  sober  and  most  sensible  moments  he  owned  that. 
Study — learning  of  any  kind — had  always  been  irksome  to 
him.  He  never  had  read  anything  but  the  daily  news- 
papers, and  some  of  the  sporting  prints  ;  he  could  not  write 
a  letter  properly,  and  he  had  just  sense  sufficient  to  know 
his  own  shortcomings. 

One  morning  he  received  a  number  of  letters  that  puz- 
zled him — some  documents  that  he  could  not  understand 
were  sent  for  him  to  sign. 

"A  man  may  sign  his  whole1  fortune  away  without  know- 
ing it,"  he  said.  "I  wish  I  had  some  clever  man  to  sec  io 
it  all  for  me.  Arlington  has  none  of  this  trouble,  I  know." 

Lady  Chevenix,  in  her  graceful  morning  costume,  sat 
opposite  to  him.  They  had  just  finished  breakfast,  and 
that  was,  as  a  rule,  his  most  amiable  hour.  He  looked  up 
at  his  wife  suddenly;  he  had  never  consulted  her  on  any 
business  before,  and  would  not  have  done  so  now  but  that 
she  knew  the  Lonsdales. 

"Violet,"  he  said,  u  what  a  clever  man  that  young  Lous- 
dale  is  I  He  is  making  quite  a  good  position  for  himself.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  hear  of  his  getting  into  Parlia- 
ment." 

He  did  not  notice  the  flush  on  her  face  or  her  agitation. 
She  did  not  know  what  answer  to  make — she  dared  not  say 
she  was  glad.  Sir  Owen  did  not  want  an  answer.  Ho 
went  on  : 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  asking  him  to  be  my  land- 
agent ;  they  say  lie  does  so  well  for  Arlington.  I  really 
cannot  grapple  with  all  these  matters  myself;  and  lie  seems 
to  be  the  only  man  about  here  who  has  a  head  worth 
carrying  on  his  shoulders.  1  wonder  if  he  \\ould  undertake 
it  if  I  asked  him,  Violet  }" 

M  1  cannot  tell— I  do  not  know,"  she  replied. 

"But  you  must;  surely  you  have  some  idea — you  have 
Known  tiiein  a  long  time.  What  d»  you  think?'' 

"  I  should  sav  the  Lonsdales  would  l>e  very  pleased  ;  they 
ought  to  bo.  You  would  pay  them  well,  of  coin 

"I  should  be  quite  willing  to  give  five  hundred  a  year, 
but  then  I  should  expect  all  my  work  done  for  that.  I  pay 
almost  .as  much  as  that  now  in  or."  way  or  another.  1 
think  I  shall  go  and  see  them  about  it,  Violet." 

"  It  would  be  the  wisest  plan."  she  said. 

"Young  LoiLsdale  has  not  shown  anv  groat  anxiety  to 
visit  us  "  he  continued,  with  a  sneering  laugh.  "Perhaps 


176  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

he  has  not  quite  forgiven  me  about  you — eh,  Violet?— 
though  he  did  not  seem  to  care  about  it." 

"  He  has  forgotten  all  that  nonsense,"  said  Violet.  "  I  do 
not  believe  he  remembers  even  that  we  were  friends." 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  shall  call  to-day  and  see  them. 
If  young  Lonsdale  consents,  I  will  make  him  come  and 
dine  with  us.  He  dines  often  enough  at  Bramber  Towers. 
I  hope  he  will  consent.  I  thought  of  traveling  next  year, 
and  I  should  enjoy  my  tour  much  better  if  I  left  him  in 
command. " 

"I  hope  you  will  succeed,"  she  replied,  and  she  did  hope 
so  ;  she  would  have  been  glad  of  anything  that  would  have 
forced  Felix  into  her  society.  She  was  lonely  in  spite  of 
all  her  grandeur,  and  there  were  times  when  she  was  dread- 
fully tired. 

It  was  hard  work  to  live  with  Sir  Owen ;  she  had  to 
watch  him  incessantly  to  study  his  humors,  to  obey  him 
readily ;  she  had  less  real  liberty  than  the  wife  of  many 
a  poor  peasant.  She  would  be  so  pleased  and  so  content  if 
she  could  see  Felix  sometimes — not  that  she  wanted  any 
allusion  even  to  their  former  acquaintance,  but  she  never 
knew  what  that  sweet  sunny  presence  of  his  had  been  to 
her  life  until  it  had  passed  out  of  it. 

If  they  could  meet  sometimes,  and  laugh  as  they  used  to 
laugh  over  all  the  little  comic  scenes  and  sensations  Lilford 
afforded,  if  she  could  talk  to  him  of  some  of  the  thoughts 
and  ideas  that  began  to  crowd  upon  her  mind  and  brain, 
she  would  be  well  pleased  ;  there  was  always  a  sense  of 
something  wanting,  something  missing,  in  her  life.  So  she 
hoped  that  he  would  consent  to  act  as  Sir  Owen's  agent. 
Surely  she  should  see  him  occasionally. 

Her  husband  was  not  a  pleasant  companion,  and  at  times, 
when  her  nerves  and  patience  were  overtaxed,  she  would 
go  to  her  mother  with  a  long  list  of  complaints.  But  Mrs. 
Haye  was  always  diplomatic.  She  would  listen  with  every 
appearance  of  sympathy;  she  would  condole  with  her 
daughter,  and  then  she  would  say,  "  Every  wife,  my  dear, 
has  a  great  deal  to  undergo ;  the  foolish  ones  talk  about 
their  trouble,  the  wise  ones  keep  it  to  themselves.  After 
all,  you  must  expect  some  little  drawbacks.  You  have 
wealth,  title,  grandeur,  diamonds,  carriages,  servants ;  the 
only  drawback  is  your  husband,  and  you  must  study  to 
bear  with  him  as  well  as  you  can." 

That  was  all  the  comfort  that  I^ady  Chevenix  ever  hnd 
from  hor  mother. 

Francis  Haye  would  say  to  her  at  times : 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  177 

"I  do  not  like  to  interfere,  Violet ;  but  rs  all  this  that  I 
hear  about  your  husband's  intemperate  habits  true?" 

"I  am  afraid  so,  father,"  she  would  reply,  and  then  he 
would  add  : 

"  Can  you  do  nothing  to  check  him  ?  A  wife  should  have 
some  influence  over  her  husband. " 

"I  can  do  nothing,"  she  would  answer,  and  then  her 
father  would  doubt  whether,  after  all,  things  had  happened 

for  the  best. 

******** 

Sir  Owen  rode  over  to  Lilford  and  called  at  the  office  in 
Castle  street.  If  he  had  found  Felix  there,  his  request 
would  have  been  refused,  but  Darcy  Lonsdale  was  in  tho 
office,  and  listened  calmly  to  what  the  baronet  had  to 
say. 

"I  cannot  give  you  an  immediate  answer,"  he  replied, 
"but  I  will  think  over  your  proposition  and  let  you  know 
our  decision." 

Sir  Owen  stopped  while  he  said  something  about  his 
earnest  desires,  and  he  made  some  impression  on  Darcy 
Lonsdale  by  his  evident  trust  in  him.  Once  the  elder  man 
was  inclined  to  turn  around  and  say,  "You  robbed  my  son 
of  the  greatest  joy  of  his  life— his  love— and  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you  or  anything  belonging  to  you."  P.ut 
that  would  have  been  undignified,  and  he  had  learned  his 
lesson  of  mercy.  To  him  there  was  something  almost  piti- 
ful in  the  fact 'of  this  strong,  coarse,  rich  man,  un;,' 
take  care  of  his  own,  unable  to  hold  his  position  with  dig- 
nity, appealing  to  him  for  the  sensible  management  that 
he  could  not  give  himself. 

He  would  not  decide  hastily;  he  did  not  think  hi 
would  like  the  business.  P.ut  five  hundred  ]>er  annum  was 
a  consideration,  besides  which  Darcy  Lonsdale  shrank 
from  the  remarks  that  people  would  make  if  he  refused 
such  an  ofl'er.  He  said  nothing  about  it  until  he  returned 
home  at  night,  and  then  he  found  Eve  Lester  there,  and 
the  matter  was  reviewed  in  solemn  council. 

"I  say    lake    it,"  urged    Kate.      "It    seems  to  me    really, 
Darcy.  that  there  is  an  especial  Providence    for 
it,  by  all  means.     It  is  a  sin  to  throw  five  hundred  B 
away." 

"  My  dear  Kate,  this  is  more  a  matter  of  sentiment  than 
of  money,"  said  Mr.  Lonsdale. 

"  I  am  of  Kate's  opinion,"  put  in  Evelyn.  u  I  quite  think 
you  should  accept  it.  If  you  do  not,  people  will  .say  dis- 
agreeable things. "  • 


178  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  have  thought  of  that,  too.  The  general  impression 
•would  be  that  Felix  held  some  kind  of  resentment  against 
Lady  Chevenix,  or  that  he  had  still  some  lingering  liking 
left  for  her.  What  do  you  say  yourself,  Felix  ?" 

"My  dear  father,  I  will  say  nothing,"  he  smiled.  "It  is 
a  matter  of  utter  indifference  to  me.  I  do  not  see  that 
there  is  the  least  connection  between  Lady  Chevenix  and 
her  husband's  agency.  AccepH*>r  decline  it,  just  as  you 
will." 

"  If  I  accept  it,  I  will  undertake  to  do  all  the  work, v  said 
Darcy  Lonsdale. 

"  Then  I  will  do  more  for  you,  so  that  you  may  not  feel 
it,"  said  Felix. 

"There  would  be  one  thing,"  remarked  Mr.  Lonsdale. 
"  If  we  take  the  agency  we  shall  be  compelled  to  visit  C4ars- 
wood  at  times,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  you  would  like 
that,  Felix." 

"  I  shall  neither  like  nor  dislike  it,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  a 
matter  of  utter  indifference  to  me.  I  do  not  like  Sir 
Owen,  I  confess ;  as  to  Lady  Chevenix  I  say  nothing.  If 
we  are  compelled  to  visit  them,  we  must  suffer  the  penalty 
of  mixing  in  society. " 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  such  perfect  freedom  and  indiffer- 
ence that  Darcy  Lonsdale  said  to  himself, "He  has  forgot- 
ten her,"  but  Kate  and  Eve  both  looked  anxiously  at  him. 
He  looked  indifferent,  and  Kate  thought  he  had  achieved 
the  victory,  but  Eve  knew  him  better,  and  understood  that 
he  would  fight  to  death,  but  would  never  yield.  So,  after 
a  long  and  animated  discussion,  it  was  decided  that  Darcy 
Lonsdale  should  write  to  Sir  Owen  and  tell  him  that  his 
offer  was  accepted. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Eve,  " for  I  hear  many  people  say  that 
unless  matters  improve  the  time  will  come  when  Lady 
Chevenix  will  badly  want  some  one  to  look  after  her  inter- 
ests. Sir  Owen  drinks  dreadfully,  and  has  no  thought  of 
the  hundreds  he  lavishes  when  he  is  not  sober.  Poor  Lady 
Chevenix,  with  all  her  beauty,  may  yet  want  a  friend." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Darcy  Lonsdale,  kindly.  "If  I  have 
anything  to  do  with  Sir  Owen's  affairs  I  shall  do  my  best 
always  for  her." 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  and  Sir  Owen,  when  he  read 
the  note  in  which  Mr.  Lonsdale  gave  his  consent,  was 
grateful.  He  took  it  at  once  to  his  wife. 

"They  have  consented,  Violet,"  he  said.  "Now  from  this 
day  henceforth  I  shall  lead  a  happy  life  ;  all  that  reading 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  179 

and  writing  and  worry  was  too  much  for  me.     I  was  tired 
of  it." 

She  read  the  note,  and  laid  it  down  without  comment. 

"  Are  you  pleased.  Violet  T  he  asked. 

"I  am  pleased  it'  you  are."  she  replied. 

She  was  thinking  whether  this  would  bring  her  and 
Felix  more  together. 

"I  tell  you  what  sve'llUb,  Violet.     We   will  gi%. 
dinner-party,  and  you  must  ask  all  the  people  t'n.m    I 
ber  Towers,  with  Mr.    and   Mrs.  Lonsdale  and  Felix. 
about  it  at  once  ;  send  the  notes  out  to-day." 

She  obeyed  him  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"l    WISH    I    WERE    DEAD  !" 

"We  cannot  refuse,"  said  Darcy  Lonsdale,  as  he  h< '•' 
Owen's   invitation   open   in  his  hand.     "We  must  go  this 
once,  and  then  we  can  please  ourselves  afterward.     What 
do  you  say,  Felix  f 

Felix  thought  for  a  few  minutes,   and  then  he 
frankly : 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  father,  I  think  I  would  rather  not 
go— I  do  not  like  the  idea.     To  transact  Sir  o\. 

is  all  very  well,  but  to  dine  with  him  is  quite  an 
thing." 

>u  shall  please  yourself,"  returned  Mr.  Lonsdale. 

In  his  heart,  although  he  had  felt  great  compassion  and 
•  indignation  concerning  his  son,  he  was  pleased  that  he 
had  not  married  Violet.     lie   had  seen  no  eliance  oi   hap- 
piness for  him— he  had  resented  her  conduct  to  him. 

Darey  Loiisdale  knew  that  his  son  was  bitterly  WX>U1 
but  he  said  to  himself,  "Pain  is  discipline."  and    every >  one 
had  some  kind  of  trouble  to  undergo.    So.  when  he  decline. 
to  go  to  Garswr  >d,  Darcy  sighed  to  himself,  and  was 
>,hat  his  son  still  felt  the  rankling  of  an  old  wound. 

But  Kate  would  not  have  it  SO;  f«-r  the  Hrst  tune   alinos 
in  her  life  she  difl'en-<i  from  her  step-son. 

"You  must  go,  Felix,"  she  said.      "Only  think    what  ] 
,>le  will  say  if  you  stay  away.     Even    Lady  Chevem*   I 
self  will  be  flattered  and  think  you  dan-  not  meet  her.     GO, 
Felix;    1    should    not    like  to  -ive  her  that    triumph.      XO1 
will  have  to  meet  her  some  time  or  other— do  it  now 

He  was  not  quite  willing  at  first,  but  after  a  tune  Jvat 
persuaded  him,  and  it  was  arranged  they  should  go. 


180  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Yet  Felix  hardly  liked  it.  To  have  refused  Sir  Owen's 
agency  would  have  been  to  stand  in  his  father's  light,  to 
prevent  the  children  from  receiving  the  benefits  of  an 
ample  income.  He  would  not  do  that,  but  when  he  was  in 
sight  of  Garswood  he  hated  himself  for  having  come  near 
the  place.  He  could  not  help  wondering  how  Lady  Cheve- 
nix  would  receive  him,  what  she  would  say  to  him, 
whether  she  would  be  pleased,  or  the  reverse. 

"It  can  never  be  pleasant  for  her  to  meet  me,"  he 
thought.  "  The  sight  of  me  must  remind  her  of  her  un- 
faithfulness." 

As  they  came  in  view  of  the  towers  and  turrets  of  Gars- 
wood  he  expressed  this  idea  to  his  father.  He  wished  even 
then  that  he  could  return.  He  looked  anxiously  into  his 
father's  face. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  we  have  compromised 
our  independence  by  accepting  the  agency. " 

"  My  dear  Felix,"  Darcy  Lonsdale  laughed,  "  if  every  man 
were  to  carry  his  private  feelings  into  business,  business 
would  soon  stop.  Men  come  to  niy  office  who  have  slan- 
dered me,  who  helped  to  raise  the  cry  that  I  had  robbed 
James  Hardman  of  his  rights.  I  have  to  forgive  them.  I 
do  not  make  friends  with  them,  but  I  freely  forgive  them 
and  do  business  for  them ;  you  must  do  the  same.  Bear 
one  thing  in  mind,  and  you  will  never  be  vexed  about  com- 
ing here.  You  are  invited  here,  not  as  the  lover  whom  Miss 
Violet  Haye  in  her  innocent  pride  forsook,  but  as  the  agent 
without  whose  services  and  restraining  hand  Sir  Owen, 
rich  as  he  is,  will  soon  be  ruined. " 

"There  is  common  sense  in  that  view,"  said  Felix. 

"  Then  again  for  your  own  sake,  Felix,  forget  the  past. 
The  world  is  very  unjust.  A  woman  forsaken  is  always 
pitied  ;  a  man  forsaken  is  often  laughed  at.  Let  people  say 
how  little  it  must  have  affected  you  since  you  can  visit  her 
husband — not  how  bitterly  you  must  grieve  after  her  since 
you  are  compelled  to  decline  all  invitations. " 

And  with  those  words  the  carriage  stopped  before  the 
great  entrance.  Father  and  son  entered  the  superb  hall 
with  its  ancient  oak  and  armor,  its  stained  glass  windows, 
and  an  ancient  crest  emblazond  everywhere. 

They  passed  through  a  broad  beautiful  corridor  where 
statuary — copies  of  the  great  masterpieces  of  the  world — 
stood,  where  blooming  flowers  gave  color  and  fragrance — 
through  magnificent  rooms,  until  they  reached  the  great 
drawing  room  where  Sir  Owen  and  Lady  Chevenix  re- 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  181 

ceived  their  guests.     Several  were  already  assembled,  but 
standing  apart  from  all  others  Felix  saw  Lady  C'hevenix. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  met  her  in  her  own  home, 
in  the  midst  of  the  splendor  that  was  now  hers,  and  hi- 
were  dazzled  hy  her  wondrous  beauty.  Her  dress  of  white 
silk  with  trailing  r«ses  was  richly  trimmed  with  fringes  of 
gold.  She  wore  a  tiara  of  diamonds  set  in  p»ld.  Her  ex- 
quisite beauty  and  her  exquisite  dress  da/ed  him  for  a  feu- 
moments,  but  he  made  no  sign;  and  Dairy  Lonsdale  was 
proud  of  his  son,  as  he  advanced  with  princely  ;rrace  and 
carriage  into  the  room  and  bowed  to  the  lovely  woman  who, 
be  all  her  efforts,  grew  deathly  pale  as  she  saw  him. 

Lord  Arlington,  who  never  neglected  any  opportunity  of 
publicly  showing  his  great  affection  and  regard  for  Dan-y 
Lonsdale,  went  up  to  him  and  be^an  a  Ion;;  and  interesting 
conversation  with  him.  Lady  .Maude  called  Felix  to  her 
side.  And  so  the  Lonsdales'  arrival  -[I  as  the  arri- 

val of  any  other  guests  would  have  done. 

"I    am  glad   you  came,"  said  Lady  Maude  to    Felix 
Mas  afraid  you  would  refuse,  and  I  should  have  i 
for  that/' 

Then  dinner  was  announced,  and  the  long  and    s; 

-sion  moved  forward  to  the  dining-room.  Felix.  tn>m 
where  he  sat.  could  not  only  see  Lady  C'hevenix.  but  be 
could  hear  all  that  was  passing.  He  wonder  r  per- 

fect   grace    and    elegince.      She    took    her  place  at  ti; 
perbly  appointed  table  a-   ^liou-h  she  liad  been  accustomed 
to  it  all  her  life.    There  wa.,  no  shyness,  no  mauv 
no  <-i<tt«-I<i'ri<-  of  manner.      If  she  had  been  the  da;i 
duchess  she  could  not  have  been   m<>re   well  bred, 
fined  and  graceful.     He  watched  her  keenly,  and  wit!; 

had  she  acquired  her  p 
of  man: 

Sir  Owen,  awed    by    the  of   his   di'v 

guests,  behaved    with   ;;T'-at   propriety,  and  er  the 

dinner  was  a.  urea;  Lady  ('heveiiix  >_'avc  the 

to  the  Countess    "f    Arlington,  and  the  1 
sprang  up  to  open    th--    door  for  them.      His 

i\v  a  red  Hush  cover  her  face,  and  r 
the  roots  of  her  hair. 

Wa-  imed  to  parade  before  him  her  w, 

grandeur,  her  jewels:1     The  more  shame  she  felt  the 
for  her— it  \s;  sign.     The  gentlemen  had 

half  hour,  and  then  they  rejoined  the  ladies. 

"Surely,"  thought  Lady  Uhevenix,  "I  shall  be; 
him.  to  say  a  few  words  to  him.    I  must  know  it'  b 


182  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

ways  intends  to  be  as  he  is,  new,  sc  cold,  sc  proud,  so  un- 
forgiving." 

But  it  was  a  far  more  difficult  matter  than  she  had 
thought.  She  could  not  speak  to  him  without  attracting 
observation,  unless  he  either  purposely  or  accidentally 
found  himself  near  her.  Perhaps  he  would  make  the  op- 
portunity, she  thought — but  he  did  not.  He  talked  a  great 
deal  to  Lord  and  Lady  Arlington,  and  at  times  to  Lady 
Maude,  but  at  last  came  an  opportunity.  Some  one  asked 
for  the  old-fashioned  glee,  "When  shall  we  three  meet 
again?"  and  Lady  Che venix  remembered  that  she  had  the 
music.  Felix  was  to  take  the  tenor  part — he  had  a  glorious 
tenor  voice,  rich,  clear,  and  ringing.  She  turned  to  him 
with  a  charming  smile  • 

"  The  music  is  with  some  old  books  of  mine  in  the  can- 
terbury— will  you  help  me  to  find  it  ?"  So,  while  the  room 
was  filled  with  laughter  and  song,  Lady  Chevenix  and 
Felix  bent  over  the  old  music-books  to  look  for  the  glee. 
She  turned  her  head,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Felix ;  Avill  you  listen  to  me  for 
a  few  minutes  ?" 

"If  you  wish  it,"  he  replied,  coldly. 

"  I  do  wish  it.  I  want  to  know  if  all  our  lives  we  are  to 
belike  this." 

"  Like  what,  Lady  Chevenix  ?"  he  asked. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean — if  our  lives  are  to  be  so  en- 
tirely apart,  if  you  will  alwavs  be  cold  and  distant  and 
proud  to  me — if  you  will  always  avoid  me  and  ignore  my 
presence.'7 

He  looked  at  her  in  mute  wonder. 

"  Must  I  remind  you  of  one  thing,  Lady  Chevenix  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  What  is  that?"  she  said. 

"  That  it  was  your  hand  that  separated  us — that  broke  all 
ties." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  could  we  not  be  friends?  Could 
you  not  come  to  see  us  sometimes — talk  to  me,  share  our 
amusements,  and  be  really  a  friend — could  you  not  do  this, 
Felix  ?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  could  not." 

''  Why  ?"  asked  the  sweet,  soft  voice. 

"  Because  I  happen  to  be  a  man,  and  not  a  statue — be- 
cause I  have  a  human  heart,  and  am  not  made  of  marble. 
Our  lives  lie  apart,  Lady  Chevenix," 

"You  might   be  kinder,"   she   said,   and  the  beautiful 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  183 

woman  shrank  from  him  as  though  he  had  struck  her  a 
blow. 

No,"  he  rejoined,  "it  would  not  be  possible.  As  the  wife. 
of  another  man,  you  are  nothing  to  me ;  to  enter  into  a 
compact  of  friendship  with  you  would  be  t<>  end 
what  I  hope  to  keep  stainless  until  I  die — my  honor  I « -\\>r< - 
men  and  Heaven.  Our  lives  lie  quite  apart,  and  nothing 
can  bring  them  into  contact. " 

"(Am  I  help  you,  Violet?"  said  a  voice  near  them,  and, 
looking  up,  Lady  Chevenix  saw  the  anxious  face  of  her 
mother. 

Mrs.  Haye  bent  over  the  music-books. 

"I  will  assist  my  daughter,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  she  said, 
coldly. 

Feiix  bowed  and  left  them. 

"My  dear  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Haye,  "how  can  you  be  so 
imprudent  ?  Why  do  you  talk  to  him  ?  You  will  cause  re- 
marks that  will  not  please  you. " 

"  Mamma,"  replied  Violet,  raising  her  white  face,  "he 
says  that  he  will  not  even  be  friends  with  me." 

"So  much  the  better,  my  dear.    Lady  Chevenix,  of  ( - 
wood,  will  choose  her  friends  from  among  the  highest    in 
the  land,  not  from  her  old  playfellows.     Try  to  look   like 
yourself,  Violet." 

"I  will,  but  I  wish  I  were  dead,  mamma  !" 

"Nonsense,  child.  See,  Lady  Maude  is  waiting  for  you. 
Come  now,  my  darling  Violet — courage  ;  this  is  but  child- 
ish nonsense." 

So  with  inspiring  words  she  brought  the  smiles  hack  to 
the  sweet  face,  but  in  her  heart  she  resol veil  that  Lady 
Chevenix  should  see  but  little  of  Felix  Lonsdale  while  she 
was  there,  and  she  kept  her  resolve. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MANY   CHANGES. 

Five  years  had  passed   since  the  peal  of  Violet  II 
wedding-bells    had   driven    her   lover   Felix    almost    mad, 
since  the  wonderful  turn  of  good  fortune  had  com.-  to  the 

Lonsdales    and    made    them    famous— live  years,  and   they 
had  brought  with  them   many  changes.     The    husine 
the  fair  fame  of  Lonsdale  &  Son  had  wonderfully  incr« 
they  were  compelled  to  engage  more  clerks,  to  enlarge  their 

offices.      Times    had   marvel, ,usly  changed.  .   Mrs.  Lonsdale 
had  a  pretty  carriage  now  and  uo  stint  of  silk  dresses  ;  the 


184  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

•children  had  most  of  them  gone  to  college  and  school.  The 
house  had  been  beautifully  furnished  ;  there  was  a  general 
&ir  of  prosperity  about  it  that  was  pleasant. 

Darcy  Lonsdale  seemed  to  have  recovered  more  than  his 
usual  health  and  strength  ;  he  had  never  been  so  happy,  so 
prosperous,  and  contented.  Over  and  over  again  he  said  to 
limself  that  his  misfortune  had  been  a  blessing. 

He  attended  almost  entirely  to  Sir  Owen's  business — 
TTelix  very  seldom  interfered  with  it,  but  he  in  his  turn  at- 
tended entirely  to  Lord  Arlington's.  The  firm  was  emi- 
nently prosperous,  and  it  was  fast  taking  the  place  of  one 
of  the  most  eminent  in  the  county. 

A  great  change  had  come  to  Felix.  These  five  years  had 
wonderfully  improved  him.  He  was  looked  upon  as  the 
rising  man  of  the  day  ;  his  society  was  courted  ;  his  opin- 
ion was  sought  upon  every  leading  question.  He  had  not 
arisen,  however,  without  effort  on  his  own  part.  No  one 
but  himself  knew  how  he  had  worked,  how  he  had  studied 
far  into  the  silent  hours  of  the  night,  how  he  had  spent  in 
reading  the  hours  that  other  men  give  to  amusement  and 
recreation.  He  was  like  a  king  among  his  fellow-towns- 
men ;  he  had  made  for  himself  a  reputation  far  beyond 
Lilford  ;  he  was  known  as  a  clever  writer,  as  the  author  of 
some  of  the  most  brilliant  essays  and  articles  published. 
He  retained  all  the  simple  habits  of  his  boyhood  ;  he  rever- 
enced and  loved  his  father,  he  loved  Kate  and  the  little 
ones.  He  might  have  set  up  a  separate  establishment  for 
himself,  but  he  was  quite  content  with  the  old  home  at 
Vale  House.  The  only  luxury  in  which  he  had  indulged 
was  the  purchase  of  a  spirited  thoroughbred.  When  he 
had  worked  until  eye  and  brain  and  nerve  were  exhausted, 
he  would  ride  through  the  green  lanes,  gallop  over  the 
breezy  commons,  and  return  with  renewed  vigor. 

They  asked  themselves,  those  who  loved  him  best,  if  he 
had  forgotten  his  unhappy  love-affair.  It  was  impossible 
to  say ;  tkose  who  watched  him  most  keenly  and  most 
kindly — Eve  and  Katie — could  not  tell.  They  could  see 
that  he  devoted  himself  to  business  and  to  study,  to  kindly 
interest  in  his  home ;  he  seeined  to  care  for  nothing  else. 
Had  he  forgotten  the  past  ? 

He  never  mentioned  Lady  Chevenix  ;  he  never  made  any 
of  those  half -bitter,  half-cynical  remarks  in  which  disap- 
pointed men  so  often  indulge.  If  any  one  spoke  of  her  in 
his  presence,  he  listened,  and  replied  if  necessary .  but 
there  was  nothing  revealed  in  his  manner.  Kate  said  to 
'herself  proudly  that  he  had  forgotten  her,  that  his  heart 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  185 

was  too  noble  to  keep  alive  the  memory  of  a  woman  so 
false.  Eve  knew  him  better.  There  were  times  when 
even  a  gallop  over  the  breezy  uplands  did  not  set  him 
straight,  and  then  he  would  go  over  to  the  Outlands. 

"I  have  come  to  chat  with  you,  Eve,"  he  would  say. 
"  Have  you  an  hour  to  spare  ?" 

Then  one  look  at  his  face,  at  the  shadowed  eyes,  would 
tell  her  that  he  was  doing  fierce  battle  with  his  foe.  Sin- 
would  go  into  the  pretty  old-fashioned  sitting-room,  ami, 
making  him  sit  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  would  talk  to 
him.  To  herself  she  said  often  that  it  was  like  the  laying 
of  an  evil  spirit.  She  would  read  to  him,  converse  with 
him,  give  him  all  the  news  she  could.  She  knew,  and  he 
knew,  why  he  was  there,  what  ailed  him,  what  old  sorrow 
was  crying  aloud,  what  vain  wild  passion,  what  vain  deep 
regret,  was  in  his  heart,  but  it  was  not  discussed. 

She  knew  when  her  wise,  sweet,  tender  words  took 
effect;  the  shadow  would  fall  from  his  face,  and  he  would 
listen  in  silence.  At  times  he  would  sit  for  an  hour  listen- 
ing, never  speaking,  and  then  rising  with  a  brightened 
look  that  did  her  heart  good,  he  would  clasp  her  hand 
warmly  in  his  own. 

u Thank  you,  Eve,"  he  would  say  to  her;  "I  know  best 
what  you  have  done  for  me." 

Miss  Lester  was  not  very  well  pleased  just  then  with  her 
niece.  Eve  had  received  two  good  offers  of  marriage,  and 
had  refused  them  both ;  and,  though  Miss  Lester  disliked 
men,  she  had  always  a  keen  eye  to  the  main  chance,  and 
said  that  if  Eve  refused  one  she  ought  to  have  taken  th,> 
other. 

She  confided  her  grievance  to  Felix. 

u  I  wish,"  she  said,  "that  you  would  talk  to  her  ;  you  havo 
known  her  so  long— you  'are  an  old  friend.  Talk  to  her. 
Felix  ;  tell  her  how  foolish  it  is  to  refuse  every  good  offer." 

" But  I  thought  you  disapproved  of   marriage,  Mis 
ter,  and  disliked  men  ?" 

"So  I  do— so  I  do,  but  I  shall  not  live  forever,  and 
must  have  some  one  to  take  care  of   her.     Squire  llethway 
would  have  made  her  a  good  husband.    Talk  t<»  her.  Fell 

"I  really  do  not  like  to  speak  to  Kve  on  such   a   matter, 
said  Felix  ;  "  she  might  not  like  it.    She  must  have  had  her 
own  reasons  for  saying  'No.' 

"Beasonsl"  quoth  Miss  I.estcr.     "She  hasn't  any. 
is  waitingunt.il  the  man  in    the   moon  proposes   to    marry 
her,  and  I  hope  it  will  he  soon." 

Felix  went  away  laughing,  but  he  thought  of  Evelyn 


186  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

that  evening  more  than  he  had,  ever  before.  He  wondered 
why  she  would  not  marry,  and  then  he  said  to  himself 
that  after  all  he  was  not  sorry.  His  friendship  for  her  was 
the  most  pleasant  part  of  his  life,  arid  he  could  hardly 
imagine  her  devoted  entirely  to  another.  She  was  not  beau- 
tiful, but  there  were  times  when  he  saw  on  her  fair  face 
loveliness  brighter  than  any  physical  beauty ;  she  was  so 
tender,  so  earnest,  so  pure,  so  noble  and  high-minded. 

u  Whoever  marries  her,"  he  thought,  "will  certainly  have 
a  treasure  of  a  wife.  Eve  deserves  the  truest  love  that  a 
man  can  give  her." 

Yet  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  to  love  her  himself.  In 
his  honest  heart  he  believed  that  love  was  all  ended  for 
him  ;  he  could  not  realize  that  a  man  could  love  twice  in  a 
life-time.  His  love,  he  told  himself,  had  been  slain.  He 
never  thought  now  of  any  future  for  himself :  he  never 
pictured  himself  with  fair  wife  or  loving  children;  he 
never  dreamed  again  of  a  home.  He  filled  his  mind  with 
work  and  study — love  had  ceased  to  be  for  him. 

While  he  steadily  rose  in  the  world  Sir  Owen  just  as 
steadily  went  down.  Five  years  had  served  to  injure  both 
the  baronet's  character  and  estate ;  but  for  the  restraining 
hand  of  Darcy  Lonsdale  he  would  have  been  ruined.  The 
clever,  honest  lawyer  had  acquired  a  kind  of  influence 
over  him  ;  he  would  not  allow  him  to  live  above  his  in- 
come ;  when  Sir  Owen  made  most  extraordinary  demands 
for  money,  his  answer  was  always,  "If  you  persist  in 
spending  more  than  your  income,  Sir  Owen,  I  must  resign 
my  office,"  and  that  threat  invariably  brought  the  baronet 
to  reason.  He  knew  that  he  was  about  as  capable  of  manag- 
ing his  estate  as  of  translating  Greek. 

Sir  Owen  had  had  one  great  disappointment — Heaven  had 
not  blessed  him  with  a  son  and  heir.  One  good  quality 
among  a  host  of  bad  ones  was  his  love  of  children.  While 
he  was  cruel  to  animals,  almost  furious  at  times  with  his 
wife  and  servants,  he  loved  little  children ;  and  the  chances 
were  that  if  he  had  had  children  around  him  he  would  have 
been  a  better  man.  As  it  was,  the  disappointment  made 
him  sour  and  morose  ;  he  could  not  bear  it ;  he  was  sullen 
and  fierce  by  turns. 

"No  son  to  succeed  me  !"  he  would  say.  "Why  should  I 
care  about  my  fame  or  my  name  ?  I  want  a  son.  I  should 
have  something  to  live  for  if  I  had  a  son.  Why,  some  of  the 
laborers  on  my  estate  have  half  a  dozen  strong,  sturdy 
sons  ;  why  should  not  one  at  least  have  been  given  to  me  ?" 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it,  Sir  Owen,  Heaven  knows  best 


WEAKER  THAN  A  TP'.lf.LV.  187 

•where  to  place  the  little  ones,"  Darcy  Lonsdale  would  say, 
and  then  j?ir  Owen,  knowing  how  far  he  was  from  being 
able  to  train  a  child,  would  say  no  n 

He  would  have  loved  his  wiie  better  if  little  children  had 
been  there  to  s<  >i  i-n  him  ;  as  it  was.  lie  nov.  if  his 

time  in  quarreling   with    her   and  in  tyrannizing  over  her, 
and  the  other  half   in  fierce  lo\  e  making.     That  ; 
the  worst  nio<xl  of  the  two. 

He   was   not   loved,  the  rich  baronet :  the  simple  towns- 
people told  strange  tales  of  him  wh«  :  d  aroumi 
tires  at  night — stran.m-  evil   stories  that  lies*  to  his 
'8  ears,  or  she  would  have  left  him. 

"I  would  not  have  let  him  marry  my  daughter,"  the 
women  would  QO,  not  if  he  1  ,eh." 

There  was  no  mistake  about  the  fact  that  his  nam- 
in  very  evil  odor  a  mom:-  l.f.th  rich  and  p 

Francis  Have  talked  over  the  matter  with  his  wife  some- 
3.     Mrs.  Have  looked  at  it  quite  philosophically. 

"I  am  told."  she  said,  "that   he  drinks  over  a  botl 
brandy  each  day;  if  that  is  really  tl.  unot   live 

••  I  do  not  see  bow  that  improves  matters,"  rejoined  her 
husband. 

•  I  do;  ire  to  have  all  his  money,  and  then  in  a 

can  mar: 

Francis  Ha;  not  particularly  sagacious,  but  this 

view  of  the  matter  struck  him  at  01 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

SIR  OWEN'S   JNSfLTS. 

Lady  Ohevenix  was  standing  in  her  superb  drawing-room 

alone-  she  held  a  folded   paper  in  her  hand  win. 

•tentivelv;  then  she    m.-dit;:t' d    for   a    tew    min 
ag  the  bell.     To  the  servant  who  an- 
swen-d  it  she  said  : 

-Will   you   ask   Mrs.  Have  if  she  can  come  to  me? 
wish  particularly  to  speak  to  her." 

Mrs.  Have  was  spending    a    few  d  OOO— J 

what  the    world    was    told:    in  reality  then 

\m  Lady  Chevenix  feared   for  her  life.     Sir  Owen  had 
drinking   heavily,  and    he    had    grown  dar. 
she    believed.      She   had    lost   all  control  ovr  him.  and   the 
terrified   servants  told   each   other  of  sobs  and  cries  that 


188  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

sounded  at  night  when  all  the  house  was  still.  She  grew 
alarmed  at  last,  and  sent  for  Mrs.  Haye. 

That  philosophical  lady  said  nothing  to  the  fierce,  angry 
man  who  was  beyond  reasoning  with,  but  she  sent  for  a 
physician,  and  the  appearance  of  a  doctor  frightened  him. 
into  better  behavior.  Lady  Chevenix  would  not  part  with 
her  mother. 

"You  must  stay  with  me,  mamma,"  she  said.  "I  have 
been  through  scenes  that  would  make  you  shudder,  and  I 
have  lost  all  heart — quite  lost  all  heart.  You  mu§t  stay 
with  me." 

Mrs.  Haye  was  one  of  those  women  who,  even  when 
alone,  never  undervalue  appearances,  and  she  always  moved 
and  spoke  as  though  people  were  looking  at  her.  She 
merely  answered — 

"  I  shall  be  very  pleased,  indeed,  to  stay  with  you  until 
your  husband  is  stronger  and  better,  my  dear. " 

And  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  do  so. 

Lady  Chevenix  stood  waiting  for  her  now.  As  she  stood 
there,  -so  tall  and  stately,  with  such  ineffable  beauty  and 
grace  in  face  and  figure,  she  did  not  look  like  one  who  had 
lost  her  heart.  Her  girlish  loveliness  had  developed  into 
womanly  magnificence,  but  there  was  little  trace  in  her  of 
'Violet  Haye,  the  sweet  girl  coquette — little  trace  of  the 
girl  who  had  loved  Felix  Lonsdale,  or  even  of  the  woman 
who  had  asked  him  so  piteously  to  be  "  friends"  with  her. 
A  darker  sheen  lay  on  the  golden  hair,  a  deeper  light  lay 
in  the  lovely  eyes,  the  red  mouth  had  not  its  wonted  smile. 
One  could  see  at  a  glance  that  the  years  had  embittered 
her.  She  had  not  grown  soft  and  tender,  but  stern,  proud, 
and  cold.  She  had  hardened  her  heart,  and  tried  to  care 
for  nothing  but  the  wealth  and  luxury  she  now  possessed. 

She  looked  exquisitely  beautiful ;  her  morning-dress  fell 
in  artistic  folds,  a  tiny  cap  of  white  lace  and  blue  ribbon 
lay  lightly  on  her  golden  head.  Yet,  though  she  was  so 
wonderfully  lovely,  and  was  surrounded  by  all  that  was 
most  desirable,  she  did  not  look  like  a  happy  woman. 

She  raised  her  eyes  as  her  mother  came  into  the  room. 

"Mamma,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  paper,  "I  wish  you 
would  read  this  and  tell  me  what  to  do." 

Mrs.  Haye  took  the  paper  from  her  daughter's  hand  and 
read  it. 

"The  Loomshire  Hunt  Ball,"  she  said.  "Of  course  you 
are  going  ?" 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  know,  mamma.  You  see,  Sir 
Owen  is  one  of  the  stewards.  If  I  show  it  to  him,  and  he 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  189 

goes,  you  can  guess  what  is  almost  sure  to  happen— he  will 
not  keep  sober.  If  I  do  not  show  it,  and  he  finds  out  that  I 
have  received  it —  A  shrug  of  the  beautiful  shoulder  con- 
veyed the  rest.  u  What  do  you  advise  me  t<>  do  .'"' 

"  You  must  show  it  to  him,  my  dear  ;  there  is  no  alterna- 
tive. As  steward,  and  patron  he  must  attend — that  is,  if  he 
is  well." 

u  He  ought  not  to  go,  mamma.  You  know  what  will  hap- 
pen. Doctor  Bell  advised  me  to  keep  him  at  home  and 
quite  quiet,  but  if  he  finds  out  that  this  has  been  withheld 
from  him,  I  can  imagine  what  will  follow1' 

There  was  no  sorrow,  no  despair  in  her  voice.  She  merely 
hard,  cold  utterance  to  what  she  knew  to  be  certain. 
She  looked  musingly  at  her  mother.     Mrs.  Have  gazed  at 
her. 

"  You  cannot  shut  yourself  away  from  all  society,  Violet, 
because  you  are  afraid  that  your  husband  will  not  behave 
himself.  You  might  as  well  be  out  of  the  world." 

"Well,  as  matters  stand,  that  is  quite  true,"  she  replied. 

"You  do  not  know,  mother,  what  I  suffer  when  he  behaves 

in  that  way.     I  think  sometimes  that  if  I  had  been  born  an 

aristocrat  I  should  not  feel  it  so  much.     Then  I  could  have 

1  aloof  from  the  dis.trj-a.ee  ;  now  it  falls  upon  me." 

"Nay,  that  it  does  not,  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Have,  warmly. 
"  You  cannot  force  Sir  Owen  to  keep  sober.  He  drank  be- 
foi-«-  he  knew  you." 

"Yes,  that  he  did.     I  cannot  expect  anyone  to  under- 
stand me,  but  that  is  really  my  feeling,  that  1  share  in  the 
ice.     Still  that  is  not  the  point  in  question.     1'oyou 
advise  me  to  show  him  this  or  not  '."" 

"I  think  you  must  show  it  to  him,"  said  Mrs.  Ha\ 
would  not  be  safe  to  keep  him  in  ignorance,  1  am  sui-e.  and 
we  must  do  our  best  afterward  with  him.     You  need  not 
remain  very  long  at  the  ball,  you  know.1' 

"I  will  do  as  you  say,  mamma,"   she  replied;  and  Mrs. 
•  •onld  read  neither  pleasure  nor  pain  in  her  face. 

Left  alone  again,  Violet  walked  to  the  window,  and 
looking  out  on  the  brilliant  {lowers  and  the  stately  ti 

"Of  all  strange  turns,"  she  said  to  herself,  "to  think  that 
my  life   should   have  taken  this— that  the  bright 
it  is  to  be  spent  in  keeping  a  fierce,  c 
sober 

She  was  always  just.     She  bad   sought  her  own  destiny; 

n  her.     She  had  that  which  she 
had  and  she  mu-t  take  Ihe  drawbacks  with  it. 

found  that    she    bad   acted    wisely   in   taking    her 


190  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

mother's  advice.    One  of  the  first  things  Sir  Owen  asked 
about  was  the  ball. 

"  Shall  you  go  ?"  she  asked  her  husband. 

"  That  I  shall, "  he  replied,  "  and  you,  too.  Lady  Maude 
Arlington  is  going;  every  one  who  is  any  one  will  be 
there." 

It  was  a  favorite  festival  of  his ;  he  enjoyed  making  him- 
self popular.  He  never  missed  the  Hunt  Ball. 

"  Violet,  mind  you  have  a  dress  worth  looking  at.  Lady 
Chevenix  of  Garswood  must  be  second  to  none  on  this  occa- 
sion. If  there  is  anything  you  want,  no  matter  what  it 
costs,  you  must  have  it. " 

She  thanked  him,  but  there  was  neither  gratitude  nor 
pleasure  in  her  voice.  Bitterly  enough  she  said  to  herself, 
"  What  will  it  matter  if  I  am  covered  with  diamonds  ?  I 
shall  have  a  weight  of  care  on  my  mind  which  all  the  dia- 
monds  on  earth  could  not  balance — the  ever-present  fear 
that  my  husband  will  disgrace  himself." 

But  during  the  next  few  days  Sir  Owen  improved.  The 
doctor  had  given  him  a  serious  fright ;  he  had  assured  him 
that  unless  he  led  a  more  abstemious  life  he  must  soon  die. 
He  bore  the  warning  in  mind,  and  drank  less. 

He  began  to  interest  himself  in  the  ball.  Lady  Chevenix 
looked  forward  to  it  with  pleasure  ;  Lady  Maude  would  be 
there,  and  she  liked  Lady  Maude.  Felix  would  be  there, 
too — she  had  heard  Sir  Owen  say  so.  She  longed  to  see  him 
again  ;  she  felt  that  there  would  be  a  sense  of  rest  and  pro- 
tection in  his  presence  that  never  came  to  her  with  any 
other.  She  wondered  to  herself  if  he  would  ask  her  to 
dance. 

.    "  I  should  like  to  dance  with  him,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
with  a  smile  that  was  almost  pitiful. 

She  took  great  interest  in  her  dress  and  her  jewels, 
hoping  that  he  would  notice  her  presence  more  than  he 
generally  did.  Very  beautiful  she  looked  in  her  favorite 
colors,  white  and  blue — white  satin  and  blue  velvet.  With 
her  exquisitely  molded  arms  and  neck — fair  as  a  sculptor's 
dream — a  diamond  necklace  clasped  around  her  throat,  a 
diamond  cross  gleaming  on  her  white  breast,  she  looked 
like  one  who  could  sway  men's  hearts.  Sir  Owen  was 
proud  of  her,  and  said  so  in  his  blunt  fashion. 

"  There  will  not  be  a  woman  in  the  room  like  you, 
Violet,"  he  said;  and  she  wondered  whether  there  would 
be  one  with  such  a  load  of  anxiety  on  her  mind. 

The  ball  was  always  held  at  the  Assembly  Rooms  in 
Lilford.  It  was  very  exclusive,  very  select,  and  at  times 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  191 

very  dull.  But  this  year  the  party  from  Bramber  Towers 
was  a  large  one  ;  several  officers  were  visiting  there.  They 
at  first  voted  the  Hunt  Ball  a  decided  ubore,"  but  when 
they  saw  Lady  Chevenix  they  thought  differently.  She  was 
worth  coining  many  miles  to  see,  they  declared,  and  she 
was  soon  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  admirers. 

The  rooms  were  beautifully  decorated  and  filled  with  a 
brilliant  crowd.  Lady  Chevenix  looked  for  Felix,  first :  she 
saw  him,  but  he  did  not  approach  her.  She  observed  that 
he  chatted  with  the  Countess  of  Arlington,  and  then  with 
Lady  Maude;  she  wondered  if  he  would  seek  her.  She 
kept  her  would-be  partner  in  suspense.  But  Felix  did  not 
come  ;  he  danced  with  Lady  Maude.  Violet  could  not  help 
hearing  what  people  said — u  How  well  they  look  together  ! 
Can  it  be  possible  that  there  is  anything  in  it  T  She  could 
not  help  hearing  it,  and  a  pang  of  jealous  pain  seemed  to 
rive  in  her  heart.  Surely  that  could  never  he  '.  Felix  marry 
Lady  Maude!  It  was  all  nonsense— the  gossip  of  foolish 
people  who  did  not  know  Avhat  they  were  saying. 

She   checked    herself    abruptly.      \Yhat   if   it  wer. 
What  did  it  matter  to  her?    Felix  and  herself  were  more 
than  strangers.    The  greatest  stranger  in  that  room  thought 
more  of  her  and  said  more  to  her  than  Felix  did.     Sli< 
the  queen  of  the  night.     Her  wonderful  beauty,  her  p.r- 
geous  dress,  her  costly  jewels,  made  her  the  very  ceii' 
observation.      She  had  her  triumph.     The  lover  she  had 
forsaken  treated  her  with  coldness,  her  husband  kept  her 
in  a  state  of  terrible  suspense,  but  the  crowd  admired  her. 
No  one  present  would  have  believed  that,  the  beautiful, 
radiant  woman  had  a  weight,  as  of  lead,  at  her  heart. 

Her  spirits  rose  as  the  night  wore  on.  It  was  something 
to  see  all  the  men  admiring  her  ;  to  see  them  strive  f.n-  mm 
smile  from  her;  to  see  how  they  surrounded  her,  how  they 
struggled  to  be  of  service  to  her;  how  her  smile 
bright  words  Swayed  them  as  the  sweet  western  wind  sways 
the  leaves.  That  was  her  triumph,  and.  to  one  so  vain,  it 
was  no  small  one.  She  saw  that  Lady  Maude,  with  all  her 
aristocratic  influence,  was  not  sought  after  and  admired  as 
she  was. 

"Beauty  rules  the  world,"  she  thought,  and  then  added, 
with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  "Beauty  and  money  combined,  I 
mean. " 

Half  the  evening  had  passed,  and  she  had  exchanj 
word  with  Felix.     Presently  chance  brought  them  almost 
side  by  side  in  a  quadrille.     He  bowed  and  spoke  to  her. 
She  could  not  help  the  feeling  of  relief  that  came  over  her 


192  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Would  he  ask  her  to  dance  ?  She  gave  him  the  opportuni  /y, 
but  he  did  not  take  it.  He  never  even  thought  of  it.  He 
had  taken  his  farewell  of  those  false  hands ;  he  would  touch 
them  no  more. 

When  she  went  to  partake  of  an  ice  with  Major  Moi-rison 
she  saw  her  husband  standing  by  the  buffet.  He  was  hold- 
ing a  tumbler  in  his  hand,  and  she  could  tell  bv  his  face 
that  he  had.  drank  to  much.  Her  heart  almost  stopped 
beating.  What  should  she  do  if  there  was  a  scene  here  ? 

"  Pray  excuse  me,"  she  said  to  Major  Morrison. 

She  went  up  to  Sir  Owen,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
arm. 

'•We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  evening,"  she  said,  and 
her  poor  lips  were  white  with  fear. 

"Very,"  he  replied,  and  in  the  effort  to  look  dignified  he 
spilled  some  of  the  brandy  on  her  dress. 

"I  am  tired,"  she  said,  trembling  in  every  nerve ;  "and, 
if  you  will,  Sir  Owen,  I  should  like  to  go  home." 

Her  one  wish  was  to  get  him  away  before  any  one  noticed 
his  condition. 

"I  shall  not  go  home  yet,"  he  said.  " Go  back  to  your 
dancing.  When  I  am  ready  I  will  send  for  you. " 

She  dared  not  disobey  him.  She  went  back  to  the  ball- 
room, a  deadly  fear  nestling  in  her  heart. 

Whether  he  ever  did  send  for  her,  or  whether  it  was  but 
the  fancy  of  an  excited  brain.  Violet  never  knew.  She  had 
not  ventured  to  disobey  him  when  he  said,  "  Go  back  to 
your  dancing ;"  she  did  as  he  had  directed.  She  had  not 
dared  to  disobey  or  to  plead  with  him,  or  to  urge  one  en- 
treaty on  him.  She  read  contempt  for  her  husband  and 
pity  for  herself  in  the  eyes  of  Major  Morrison.  He  made 
no  allusion  to  the  scene,  nor  did  she,  but  when  the  dance 
•was  ended  she  asked  him  to  take  her  back  to  the  same 
spot.  When  she  reached  it  Sir  Owen  was  gone. 

Felix  had  been  to  escort  Lady  Maude  to  her  carriage — the 
party  from  Bramber  retired  early — and  as  he  was  returning 
he  saw  Sir  Owen  assisted  into  his  carriage.  Sir  Owen 
called  to  him. 

"Mr.  Lonsdale,"  he  said,  in  a  thick  voice,  "will  you  take 
a  message  to  Lady  Chevenix  from  me  ?  Tell  her  that  she 
did  not  choose  to  come  when  I  sent  for  her,  and  that  now 
she  may  get  home  as  she  can  ;  she  may  walk  through  the 
mud  if  she  likes." 

•'  Stop,  Sir  Owen  !"  cried  Felix. 

But,  with  great  dignity  and  ferocity  mingled,  Sir  Owen 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  193 

shouted,  "  Home  !"  and  the  horses  started  off  rapidly,  leav- 
ing Felix  angry  and  full  of  wonder. 

At  first  he  thought  it  must  be  a  jest — no  one  could  treat 
a  young  wife  so  barbarously,  so  cruelly,  and  he  half  ex- 
pected the  carriage  to  return,  but  it  did  not,  and  there  was 
nothing  left  for  him  but  to  make  the  best  of  his  message. 
He  went  back  to  the  ball-room;  it  was  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  beautiful,  brilliant  young  queen  around  whom  the 
best  men  in  the  room  had  assembled  was.  the  wife  of  the 
stupid,  fierce,  drunken  baronet.  He  made  his  way  to  her, 
and  waited  until  he  could  find  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
to  her. 

"Lady  Chevenix,"  he  said,  "I  have  something  I  wish  to 
say  to  ion." 

jShe  tuj'ned  eagerly  to  him,  and  the  light  that  came  over 

«T    yCp^au^pd  him  keen  pain.     Hie. arose  from  her  seat, 

ra%n/ss4d [S^r\  train  of  admirers  with  a  queenly  smile  and 

bmy,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm.     If  the  touch  of  tho 

"little  hand  made  him  tremble  she  was  not  aware  of   it. 

They  walked   through    the   crowded   ball-room   until    11  ey 

to  a,  small  recess  at  the  end  of  it;   then  she  raised 

her  face  to  his. 

u  wanted  to  speak  to  me,"  she  said.    "I  shall  be  very 
happy  to  listen.1' 

She  decided  that  he  had  come  to  tell  her  that  he  would 
i  be  better  friends  with  her  ;  no  other  thought  entered 
her  mind.     Her  limpid  eyes  were  filled  with  light  as  she 
waited  eagerly. 

"I   am   afraid   it   is   not  a  very  agreeable  subject."   ho 

in.     "May  I  ask  if  you  have  seen  Sir  Owen  lately  '." 
lie  saw-  the  light  and  the  color  fade,  the  cold,  hard  look 
come  back  again  ;  UK;  very  tone  of  her  voice  cli.-i: 

"I  saw  him  half  an  hour  since,  and  wanted  him  to  go 
home  with  me,"  she  replied. 

"Then  there  has  been  some  mistake— just  as  I  imagined. 
The  truth  is,  Lady  Chevenix,  Sir  Owen  has  gene  home, 
after  intrusting  to  me  a  message  so  brusque  and  abrupt  that 
I  do  not  like  to  deliver  it." 

Prouder  and  colder  grew  the  fair  face,  yet  into  it  there 
came,  he  saw,  a  shadow  of  fear. 

"Gone  home,"  she,  repeated,  "and  left  me  In 
"lam   sure   there  has  been  a  mistake,"  h«-  said. 
Owen  wished  me  to  say  that  he  had  sent  for  you,  and 
that  as  you  did  not  come  he  had  gone  home  without 

"  But  he  will  send  the  carriage  back  for  me  C  she  ii.ter 
rupted. 


194  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  he  replied.  "But  I  would  rather  not 
repeat  his  words.  I  am  sure  the  carriage  will  not  return. " 

"  And  he  sent  me  this  message  by  you, "  she  cried — "  by 
you  of  all  men  .'" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  had  to  deliver  it,  but  I  had  no  alter- 
native," he  replied.  May  I  advise  you,  Lady  Chevenix  i?" 

"If  you  please,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  I  should  counsel  you  to  return  home  at  once,  before 
any  one  has  time  to  notice  Sir  Owen's  absence — it  will  save 
so  many  unpleasant  remarks.  I  will  order  a  carriage,  and 
no  one  need  know  for  whom  it  is  intended. " 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  gently,  "that  will  be  best.  I  will 
go  to  the  cloak-room  at  once." 

She  did  so,  and  a  few  minutes  afterward  she  stood,  with 
her  opera-cloak  round  her,  waiting  for  him. 

"The  carriage  is  ready,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  said ;  "allow 
me. "  He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  stood  waiting  until 
she  had  taken  her  seat.  "  It  will  not  be  long  before  you  are 
home — you  have  a  capital  horse  and  a  good  driver. " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Felix,"  she  said,  "will  you  accompany  me  home?  I 
would  not  ask  you  but  that  I  arn  frightened.  I  am,  indeed. 
I  dare  not  go  alone. " 

He  hesitated  for  half  a  minute,  and  then  he  said  to  him- 
self that  he  must  not  think  that  she  was  Violet  Haye  or 
Lady  Chevenix  ;  she  was  simply  a  woman  in  distress,  and 
it  was  his  duty  to  help  her. 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  continued,  and  he  saw  that  her  face 
was  quite  white  and  that  her  hands  trembled.  What  a 
mockery  her  diamonds  and  her  superb  dress  appeared 
now  !  "  Sir  Owen  is  very  violent  when  he  is  not  quite  him- 
self, "  she  continued.  "  If  he  is  at  home  alone,  I  dare  not 
go." 

"I  will  accompany  you,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  said  ;  "have 
no  fear — you  may  rely  upon  me. " 

They  said  but  little  during  the  journey,  and  Felix  was 
glad  when  the  carriage  reached  Garswood. 

"  You  will  come  in  with  me  ?"  said  Lady  Chevenix  ;  and, 
seeing  the  white,  frightened  face,  he  would  have  done  any- 
thing to  help  her. 

Ha  was  thankful  that  he  had  consented,  for  Sir  Owen 
had  worked  himself  into  a  state  of  uncontrollable  anger. 
He  was  in  the  drawing-room,  with  a  decanter  half  full  of 
brandy  on  the  table  by  his  side,  and  when  the  pale  woman 
entered  he  launched  a  volley  of  furious  oaths  at  her.  She 
made  no  reply,  but,  turning  to  Felix,  said,  quietly : 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  195 

"Will  you  take  any  refreshment,  Mr.  Lonsdale?    You 
have  had  a  long  drive. " 

Another  volley  of  oaths  followed.  Pale,  scared,  and 
trembling,  she  fled  from  the  room  and  took  refuge  in  her 
own.  If  she  had  been  alone  he  would  have  followed  her, 
and  then  she  would  have  had  to  save  herself  as  she  best 
could,  but  Felix  was  there,  and  the  very  thought  of  his 
presence  comforted  her.  He  staid  with  the  furious  mar,, 
whose  violence  soon  changed  into  the  extreme  of  friendli- 
ness, until  he  had  stupefied  himself  with  drink  and  w 
ried  off  helpless  to  bed,  and  then  Felix  started  for  Li: 

As  he  left  Garswood,  Felix  raised  his  face  to  the  culm 
evening  skies. 

"  Heaven  help  her,"  he  said.     "  Poor  Violet !" 

No  reference  to  this  little  scene  passed  his  lips,  but  in  his 
mind  he  felt  infinite  pity  for  her. 

A  few  days  later  Sir  Owen,  feeling  ashamed  of  his  recent 
escapade,  insisted  upon  having  a  dinner-party.  Lady 
Koli'e,  that  veteran  diner-out,  with  her  daughter  Lavinia, 
who  had  married  a  curate  and  subsided  into  "parish  work," 
the  curate  himself,  a  mild,  inoffensive  gentleman,  who  had 
perhaps  deserved  a  better  fate,  the  Reverend  Mr.  C'layburn, 
Darcy  and  Felix  Lonsdale,  Captain  Hill,  with  one  or  two 
more,  were  to  be  present.  The  baronet  wished  to  give  this 
little  party  to  remove  any  bad  impression  there  might  be 
in  the  minds  of  people  since  the  ball.  He  had  resolved 
upon  being  most  amiable,  polite,  and  attentive,  to  his  wife 
eeially. 

But  circumstances  were  against  him.  His  favorite  horse 
that  very  morning  had  been  found  lame,  and  the  groom  had 
the  insolence  or  the  courage  to  tell  him  that  he  had  caused 
it  himself  by  his  reckless  riding.  He  turned  to  dismiss  the 
man  on  the  spot,  and  then  suddenly  remembered  that  ho 
could  not  replace  him,  for  he  was  one  of  the  most  valuable 
servants  that  he  had.  He  was  obliged  to  rein  in  his  temper, 
which  in  itself  was  enough  to  drive  him  almost  mad,  so 
little  was  he  accustomed  to  self-control.  His  fuvorit' 
tiff,  too,  was  ill,  and  he  was  annoyed  about  that.  The 
veterinary  suregon  said  that  the  dog  had  better  be  shot, 
and  Sir  Owen  swore  roundly  at  him,  to  which  tl>- 
answered  by  saying  that  he  could  please  himself,  and  that 
for  the  future  he  should  not  attend  at  Garswood  if  he  were 
sent  for.  Sir  Owen  was  very  angry.  It  was  incredible  that 
a  baronet  worth  forty  thousand  a  year  could  not  swear  as 
he  liked  ;  such  a  thing  was  not  to  be  borne. 

So,  when  the  guests  sat  down  to  dinner,  Sir  Owen  was 


196  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

not  in  the  "best  of  humors.  He  was  a  discontented  man  by 
nature.  The  first  thing  that  always  occurred  to  him  was  to 
complain,  to  find  fault — never  to  praise.  If  he  saw  clear 
soup  he  was  cross  because  it  was  not  thick  ;  if  it  were  thick 
Jhe  wanted  thin.  If  one  dish  were  placed  before  him  he  was 
quite  sure  to  complain  because  it  was  not  another. 

On  this  particular  day  he  was  very  much  annoyed  be- 
cause some  of  his  favorite  fish  was  not  cooked  as  he  liked 
it.  In  vain  Lady  Chevenix,  seeing  a  storm  brewing,  tried 
to  avert  it ;  the  more  amiable  and  complacent  she  looked 
the  blacker  and  angrier  he  grew.  An  uncomfortable 
silence  fell  over  the  guests.  Felix  did  his  best ;  he  tried  to 
make  conversation,  but  it  was  difficult  with  those  muttered 
growls  running  on  like  an  under-current.  At  last  some 
other  dish  raised  Sir  Owen's  ire,  and  he  exclaimed  : 

"  If  I  had  married  some  one  who  understood  these  things 
I  should  have  been  better  off." 

The  guests  saw  Lady  Chevenix's  face  grow  as  pale  as  the 
pearls  she  wore.  Her  silence  irritated  her  husband,  for  he 
cried  out  angrily  against  her,  with  a  word  so  coarse  and 
insulting  that  there  was  not  a  man  present  who  did  not 
long  to  horsewhip  him.  She  rose  with  quiet  grace  and 
dignity  to  quit  the  room ;  she  felt  that  she  owed  it  to  her 
own  self-respect  not  to  remain.  No  sooner  did  he  see  her 
do  so  than  he  sprang  from  his  seat  and  cried  : 

"Go  back  to  your  seat,  my  lady — do  not  show  any  of 
your  airs  here. " 

The  gentlemen  arose  quickly,  but  she  mastered  herself" 
with  an  effort,  for  which  they  commended  her.     She  re- 
pressed the  hysterical  cry  that  arose  to  her  lips,  smiled,  and 
•went  back  to  her  chair. 

"  Sir  Owen  does  not  always  choose  his  jests  wisely, "  she 
said,  and  order  was  at  once  restored. 

They  admired  her  more  than  they  could  say — it  was  im- 
possible to  help  it.  Her  grace,  her  beauty,  her  self- 
possession,  her  self-contol,  her  tact,  all  struck  them.  There 
was  no  one  present  who  did  not  think  highly  of  her  for  her 
behavior  through  so  trying  a  scene.  Sir  Owen  tried  to 
laugh  it  off.  He  made  some  awkward  apologies  about 
having  been  annoyed  by  horses,  dogs,  and  servants ;  never- 
theless the  incident  left  two  disagreeable  reminders  for 
him.  Darcy  Lonsdale  told  him  that  same  evening  that  the 
next  time  he  insulted  Lady  Chevenix  in  his  presence  he 
must  seek  another  adviser.  Captain  Hill  did  better. 

"  I  want  to  say  a  few  words  to  you,  Sir  Owen, "  he  began. 
"When  on  the  point  of  departure.  "  You  invite  gentlemen  tr 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  197 

your  house,"  he  told  him,  "  and  then  presume  to  insult  them 
by  behaving  in  the  most  brutal  fashion  to  your  wife.  Do  not 
repeat  the  experiment,  Sir  Owen.  I  have  broken  bread  with 
you  for  the  last  time." 

And  no  further  word  would  the  sturdy  old  sportsman  ex- 
change with  him. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"l     DESERVE     IT     ALL." 

Sir  Owen  was  alarmed — he  found  that,  although  he  waa 
a  baronet,   he  could   not  do  as   he    liked  with  impunity. 
Society  had  certain  laws  that  must  be  kept — and  on 
that  a  man  must,  if  he  wished  to  be  considered  a  gentle- 
man, treat  his  wife  with  respect.     Sir  Owen  found  that  ho 
must  after,  for  people  \\rere  beginning  to  give  up  h . 
quaintance  ;  some  of  the  best  families  in  the  county,  who 
had  formerly  welcomed  him  with  open  arms,  now  did  not 
even   invite   him   to   their   formal  parties.     He  was  ! 
caste  as  fast  as  he  could  lose  it.  and  he  said  to  himself  that 
something  must  be  done  ;   he  must  alter,  qr  every  ho; 
the  county  would  be  closed  against  him. 

Withal  there  was  something  good  in  him — ho  was  not 
without  some  redeeming  qualities.     On  the  day  alter  the 
discreditable  scene  in  his  own  house  he  rode  over  to  (  Viptain 
Hill's,  and  asked  to  see  that  gentleman.   The  captain  1. 
very  black  when  he  saw  who  his  visitor  was,  but  Sir  ' 
held  out  his  hand. 

" I  disgraced  myself  yesterday,  captain,"  he  said.  " 
am  come  to  beg  your  p;trdon-- -to  sa,y  how  sorry  I  am.     I 
deserved  every  word  that  you  said  tome,  and  now  I  makfc 
you  the  most  ample  apology.     Will  you  shake  hands  i"1 

It  was   impossible   to   refuse,  but  Captain  Hill 
with  an  ill  gr 

"  Have  y.  m  apologized  to  your  wife  ?"  he  asked.    "  That  is 
the  chief  thing. " 

"Yes  ;  1  have  made  it  all  right  with  her.    Upon  my  • 
I  am  quite  ashamed  of  myself.      It  shall  not  lmp|- 

For  some  days  he  did  not  give  way  to  any  .  id  in 

?  shamefaced  kind  of  way  he  tried  to  make  up  to  his  wifti 
for  his  rece.lit  outburst  of  violence  -h<«  always  did  wli'-n  he 

Tended   her  almost  beyond   f,,; 

new  d  "f  all  kinds  upon 

her,  for  in  his  heart  lie  loved   he/  better  than  anythiir- 
on  earth,  though  he  insulted  and  ill  trv;U<.'d  h<  r. 


198  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Mrs.  Haye  had  gone  home,  pleased  at  leaving  matters  a 
little  better  than  she  had  found  them,  but  Lady  Chevenix 
had  vowed  to  herself  that  she  would  not,  if  possible,  be  le^t 
alone  with  her  husband  again.  She  found  that  the  presence 
of  a  third  party  made  some  difference,  was  some  restraint, 
some  check  upon  him.  She  invited  Miss  Hethcote  to  ~pend 
a  few  weeks  with  her,  and  that  young  lady,  who  had  a 
girl's  adoration  for  the  beautiful,  graceful  Lady  Chevenix, 
gladly  consented.  Marian  Hethcote  was  a  bright,  pretty, 
clever  girl,  and  her  companionship  was  very  pleasant  to 
the  Lady  of  Garswood. 

They  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  time  together  during 
the  first  few  days  of  her  stay.  Sir  Owen  was  most  gracious 
to  her.  Then,  as  was  usual  with  him,  familiarity  bred 
contempt.  Miss  Hethcote  herself  could  not  endure  him. 
When  her  father  remonstrated  with  her  one  day  about  her 
openly  expressed  dislike  of  the  baronet,  she  said  : 

"  I  could  never  like  a  man  who  swears  at  his  wife,  papa, 
and  Sir  Owen  very  seldom  speaks  to  Lady  Chevenix  with- 
out doing  so.  A  man  who  swears  at  his  wife  will  do  any- 
thing." 

Her  dislike  to  him  was  not  unjustified.  She  was  sitting 
one  morning  with  Lady  Chevenix  in  her  boudoir,  the  room 
that  was  like  a  shrine  for  the  woman  who  used  it.  They 
were  talking  gayly  and  happily  enough,  when  in  the  dis- 
tance they  heard  the  voice  of  Sir  Owen  speaking  in  most 
angry  tones.  The  sound  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 

"He  is  coming  here,"  said  Marian  Hethcote,  and  the  two 
ladies  looked  at  each  other  in  distress. 

The  door  was  opened  with  violence,  and  Sir  Owen  strode 
into  the  room,  his  face  purple  with  rage.  He  did  not  speak 
to  Miss  Hethcote,  but  looked  at  his  Avife. 

"  Where  is  my  silver-minted  riding- whip  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,  Owen,"  she  replied. 

"  You  do  know.  You  had  it  last,  and  now  it  is  gone  ;  no 
one  can  find  it.  The  grooms  say  you  had  it  last  week." 

"  I  do  not  remember  having  had  it,"  she  replied,  gently. 

But  the  gentle  words  did  not  touch  him.  His  temper  was, 
as  he  expressed  it,  "all  in  a  blaze,"  and  when  that  was  the 
case  he  spared  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child.  Miss 
Hethcote  shrank  back,  startled  and  scared  at  the  insults 
and  abuse  he  lavished  upon  his  wife.  Lady  Chevenix  stood 
quite  calm  and  still.  When  the  angry  oaths  had  ceased, 
she  looked  up  at  him. 

"I  will  go  and  try  to  find  it,  Owen,"  she  said.  "lam 
sorry  if  I  have  annoyed  you  by  misplacing  it. " 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  199 

She  left  the  room,  and  the  baronet  went  to  the  window. 
He  felt  rather  ashamed  of  himself,  for  in  his  anger  lie  hud 
quite  forgotten  Miss  Hethcote' s  presence.  He  stood  there 
looking  out  for  some  minutes  in  silence.  Then  he  turned  to 
her. 

"Women  are  so  stupid,"  he  said. 

She  was  young,  and  loved  Lady  Chevenix  very  dearly,  so 
she  was  not  unwilling  to  take  part  in  the  fray.  Sin- had 
not  yet  learned  that  all-important  lesson,  that  it  is  never 
safe  to  interfere  between  a  man  and  his  wife. 

"  They  are  remarkably  stupid, "  she  replied,  "  to  tolerate 
such  words  as  you  have  just  used  to  Lady  Chevenix.  If  I 
were  in  her  place  I  know  what  I  should  do." 

"What  would  you  do?"  he  asked,  sneeringly. 

"When  I  did  find  the  silver-mounted  riding-whip,  I  know 
what  use  I  should  make  of  it." 

He  laughed.  The/  idea  of  a  riding-whip  in  those  delicate 
little  hands  for  the  purpose  hinted  at  amused  him. 

"If  you  were  in  Lady  Chevenix's  place,"  he  said,  "you 
would  do  just  as  she  does — submit ;  it  is  a  woman's  lot." 

"I  should  not  mind  submission,  but  my  submission  would 
be  to  a  gentleman,  not  to  a  swearing,  loud-voiced  tyrant." 

"You  speak  pretty  freely,"  he  said.  "Do  not  vex  me, 
though. " 

"I  would  rather  vex  than  please  you." 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  door.  Lady 
Chevenix  entered  with  the  riding  whip  in  her  hand. 

"I  have  found  it,  Owen,"  she  said,  qui"tly,  as  though  no 
unkind  word  had  passed  his  lips.     "  J  ;>m  sorry  to 
did  mislay  it.     It  was  put  away  bv  mistake  with  mi: 

"I  must  request  you,  for  the  future."  lie  returned,  "not 
to  touch  anything  belonging  t«>  me.    What  is  HIM 
and  not  yoiirs.      Do  not  l.-t  m«-  be  v.-xed  in  this  \\ 

He  left,  the  room  with  a  quick,  angry  bang  at  tin- 

Lady  Chevenix  quietly  took  up  her  point  lae.-  a: 

the  conversation,     .Manan  Hethcote  looked  at  her,  w: 

ing  tears  in  her  eyes.      She  went   over   to   her,  and  el 
her  arms  around  her  neck. 

"Dear  Lady  Chevenix, 'V  she  said,  "is  it  possible  th..1 
do  not  really  care  ?  1  thought  you  would  come  back  broken- 
hearted." on 

"Care,  my  dear,  for  trifle-  blyuse 

questioned  Sir  Owen's  wife.      "  <  'ertainly  not" 

"I  do  not  understand  how  you  can  bear  it. 
ful  to  me.     1  should  run  away.     1  could  not  live  under  it. 


200  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"My  dear  child,  we  learn  patience  as  we  grow  older,"  said 
Lady  Chevenix,  gravely. 

But  sweet,  impulsive  Marian  would  not  be  satisfied. 

"  I  think  it  is  dreadful.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Lady 
Chevenix,  please.  I  have  never  heard  such  words  before. 
They  have  filled  me  with  horror.  I  cannot  bear  to  thii  ik 
that  you  listen  to  them  daily,  you  who  ought  to  hear  only 
sweet,  kind,  tender  words. " 

"We  will  forget  all  about  it,  Marian,"  said  Lady 
Chevenix.  "  It  does  not  matter ;  everything  comes  to  .an 
end  at  last." 

But  Marian's  heart  had  been  stirred. 

"Dear  Lady  Chevenix,"  she  went  on,  "do  not  think  me 
rude — that  which  would  be  rudeness  in  another  is  only  love 
in  me.  I  do  love  you  so  dearly,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  hear 
you  spoken  to  in  that  fashion.  If  I  were  in  your  place  I 
should  run  away." 

Lady  Chevenix  smiled. 

"That  would  not  be  of  much  use,"  she  said.  "I  find  as 
the  days  pass  that  I  cannot  run  away  from  my  trouble." 

Marian  stood  watching  her,  with  a  sad  look  on  her  fair 
young  face. 

"I  often  .think  about  you,  Lady  Chevenix,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  wonder  why — pray  do  not  be  angry  with  me — you 
married  Sir  Owen ;  you  are  so  gentle,  and  he  is  so  mu^h  the 
reverse. " 

"  My  dear  Marian,  marriages  are  made  in  heaven, "  she  re- 
turned, with  a  slow,  sad  smile. 

"  Are  they  ?  Well,  dear  Lady  Chevenix — do  not  think  me 
irreverent — if  your  marriage  was  made  in  heaven  mine 
shall  be  made  on  earth.  I  often  wonder  if  I  ever  shall 
marry.  Do  you  know  that  in  my  short  career  I  have  not 
seen  very  much  happiness  in  married  life  ?  I  am  not  greatly 
in  love  with  it,  therefore. " 

"  It  is  like  everything  else — a  lottery  and  a  chance,"  said 
Lady  Chevenix. 

"  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  what  kind  of  man  I 
should  like  to  marry,"  went  on  Marian.  "He  must  be 
good,  to  begin  with — clever,  distinguished,  and  handsome, 
gentle,  and  yet  brave — something  like — do  not  laugh  at  me, 
Lady  ©hevenix — something  like  Mr.  Felix  Lonsdale ;  he  is 
my  beau-ideal  of  a  man. " 

_  She  wondered  why  Lady  Chevenix  turned  away  with  a 
little  low  cry  on  her  pale  Ipis. 

"  You  like  Mr.  Felix  Lonsdale,  then,  Marian  ?"  she  said, 
after  a  time.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  talk  of  him,  to  utter  his 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  201 

name  and  to  hear  it — a  pleasure  that  she  had  long  been  de- 
prived of. 

"  Yes,  I  like  him  better  than  any  gentleman  I  have  met — 
much  better.     He  seems  to  me  a  gentleman  in  every 
of    the  word.      I  like    him  very  much,"  she  continued, 
warmly,  quite  unconscious  of  the  pain  she  was  inflicting 
on  Lady  Chevenix. 

"He  would   be  nattered  if   he  knew  how  highly  you 
thought  of  him,  Marian." 

The  sweet,  girlish  laugh  rang  out  gayly  • 
"  Would  he  ?    I  do  not  think  so.     He  does  not  seem  to 
care  very  much  for  the  society  of  ladies  ;  lie  tall. 
Lady  Maude  Arlington  than  to  any  one  else.     He  is  not 
what  most  people  call  a  lady's  man." 

"He  has  other  things  to  think  of,"  said  Lady  Chevenix:. 
"Perhaps  so.     Mrs.  Clayburn  told  me  ho  had  a  § 
trouble,  a  great  sorrow,  in  his  early  life." 

"Did  she  tell  you  what  it  was.''1  asked  Lady  C 
and  Marian  Hethcote  did  not  see  the  trembling  of  the  white 
hands. 

"Yes ;  he  loved  some  one  who  forsook  him  ;  she  mar 
some  one  else.     Mrs.  Clayhurn  did  not  tell  me  much 
it,  but  she  said  that  that  accounted  for  his  p  much 

for  the  society  of  ladies  ;  he  had  loved  this  lady  so  long  si 
so  truly  that  he  had  taken  it  deeply  to  heart,  and  1 
never  recovered  from  the  sorrow." 

"I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Lady  Chevenix,  slowly. 
"Indeed  it  is  true.     I  watched  him  .-i.ft.-r  she  had  t 
and  I  saw  that  whenever  his  face  was  in  rep 

Lady  Chevenix  was  quite  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  a 
then  she  said  : 

"Did  Mrs.  Clayburn  tell  you  who  fco  lady  wa> 
"No,  it   is   no   one    near    here,   I  think," 
Hethcote.     "She  did  not  say  very  much,  but  it 
what  I  had  thought  myself.     I  said  to  myseli  the  ^ 
night  that  I  saw  him,  'That  man  has  had  some*:" 
in  his  life.'  "  ,,  •   ,_  t., 

"  I  have  noticed  nothing  in  him  to  make  me  thin 
said  Ladv  Chevenix.  T 

"You  see  so  many  people  that  it  h 
quite  sure  that  he  has  wasted  all  tin-  l-.v,  -t 
on  some  one  quite  undeserving  of  it. 
that  tells  me  so."  ..       ,         -,  ftv,m_ 

Lady  Chevenix  stood  up  before  her,  all  pale 

dear  Marian."  ene  said,  "never  speak  to  me  of  this 


202  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

again.  Some  one  else  will  tell  you  if  I  do  not.  It  was  I 
whom  Felix  Lonsdale  loved  ;  it  was  I  who  gave  him  up  to 
marry  Sir  Owen.  Hush  !  Do  not  cry  for  me.  I  deserve  it 
all,  and  much  more  ;  but,  Marian,  never  talk  to  me  of  Felix 
Lonsdale  again.  We  will  go  now,  dear.  The  bell  nas  rung 
for  luncheon." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MAJOR  RAWSON. 

"Violet,"  said  Sir  Owen  to  his  wife,  "I  want  you  to  give 
a  garden-party ;  they  are  much  in  vogue.  There  could  be 
no  more  beautiful  time  for  one  than  during  this  lovely 
weather.  The  grounds  look  superb ;  we  have  not  a  tree 
that  is  not  in  full  leaf.  Send  out  your  invitations  to-day." 

"  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure,"  replied  Lady  Chevenix,  and 
Marian  Hethcote,  who  was  present,  appeared  delighted. 

"  You  are  growing  quite  amiable,  Sir  Owen, "  she  said. 

"  If  one  garden-party  makes  me  amiable,  two  ought  to 
make  me  charming. " 

"Perhaps  they  will  do  so,"  said  Miss  Hethcote. 

"  We  will  give  one  now  worth  remembering.  I  think  I 
can  get  the  military  band  from  Oldstone — I  shall  try  to  do 
so — and  we  will  send  to  London  for  a  chef  de  cuisine.  We 
will  h.ave  everything  of  the' very  best." 

The  invitations  were  numerous.  Lord  Arlington  decided 
to  accept  his. 

"I  do  not  like  the  baronet,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  grieved 
for  his  young  wife  ;  still  we  cannot  send  him  to  Coventry. 
We  must  visit  him  sometimes — and  a  garden-party  is  better 
than  a  dinner-party.  We  need  not  stay  so  long,  and  we 
need  not  see  very  much  of  our  host. " 

So  Sir  Owen  was  made  happy  by  a  polite  note  from 
Bramber,  saying  that  the  earl  and  his  wife  and  daughter 
would  be  present  at  the  gathering. 

The  Lonsdales  also  promised  to  be  present,  and  it  seemed 
as  though  the  garden-party  was  to  be  a  success. 

One  day  Sir  Owen  sat  with  Lady  Chevenix  and  Miss 
Hethcote  after  dinner  discussing  the  coming  event.  He 
turned  to  his  wife. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  I  saw  a  very  pretty  girl  the  other  day 
— a  girl  that  quite  took  my  fancy.  I  met  her  at  Darcy 
Lonsdale's  office." 

"  Indeed !"  returned  Violet.     "  Who  was  it,  Owen  ?" 

"  Let  me  see  now — what  did  they  call  her  ?    Evelyn — Eve 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  203 

Lester — the  niece  of  a  certain  strong-mijided  Miss  Lester 
•who  lives  at  the  Outlands.  You  must  know  her — of  course 
you  know  her !" 

"Yes,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "I  know  Eve  Lester." 

"You  ought  to  like  her,  too.     I  quite  admire  her.    I  have 
not  scon  such  a  pretty  face  for  some  time — yours,  of  ct> 
exeepted,  Miss  Hethcote,"  he  added,  laughingly. 

"Lady  Chevenix's  face  excepted,  you  mean,"   said 
Hethcote;    "hers,   indeed,    is  a  most  beautiful    face,    Sir 
Owen." 

"There  is  too  much  of  pride  and  defiance,    or  rather 
pride  and  indifference,"  ho  laughed,  "in  my  lady's 
Now  this  girl  Eve  Lester  is  as  fair  and   s\veet  as  a    : 
she  reminded  me  of  a  dove,  so  fair  and  gentle  is  she." 

"Very  sweet  people  are  apt  to  be  very  inane,"  said  Miss 
Hethcote. 

"  Inane  or  not,  I  wish  you  would  invite  her  to  the  party, 
Viol 

"  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure,  but  I  do  not  think  she  will 
come." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  impatiently. 

"Because,   though  we  were    friends   once,  we  are  not 
friends  now,"  said  Lady  Chevenix. 

"Then  you  must  he  friends.  Violet.     I  am  determined  to 
have  her  at  the  gathering.     I  liked  her  sweet,  fair 

"My  deal- Owen.  I  would  do  anything   to   oblig^yOU   or 
e  you,  but  I  cannot  make  any  overtures  of  friendship 
to  Eve  Lester." 

"But  I  say  you  must,  Violet." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot.     If  you  are  determined 
Miss  Lester  shall  come,  you  must  go  yourself  and  mvito 
her/' 

"It  is  the  usual  way  if  I  want  anything/'  he  said 
;i  I  can  have  everything  except  the  one  thing  nv 
I  only  wish  thai  f  had  had  the  sense  to  make  s.i 
that  Lady  Chevenix ;  there  would  have  heen  no  opposition 

to  my  wishes  then/' 
"I  am  quite  sure  that  I  wish  the  same  thing, 

Violet,  quietly. 

"  Do  you  ?    I  might  have  expected  such  a  confession  fi 
you,"  lie  exclaimed. 
Allth.-t  was  disagreeable  seemed  K>  he  forgotten  wju 

the  dav  of   the  fete  arrived.      The  party  was   likely  t, 

wonderful  success     All  theeKfcof  the  neighborhood 

ossemhled.    The  sun  was  bright,  the  trees  were  in  luxunant 


2(H  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN'. 

leaf.    Had  there  been  no  other  attraction  the  beauty  of  the 
grounds  alone  would  have  been  one. 

Sir  Owen  looked  proudly  around ;  it  pleased  him  to  see- 
such  great  and  noble  persons  his  guests.  The  one  whom  he 
cared  most  to  honor  was  Major  Rawson,  the  great  Victoria 
Cross  hero  of  whom  all  England  and  even  all  France  had 
been  talking — Major  Rawson,  who  was  heir  to  a  baronetcy, 
and  one  of  the  most  popular  men  in  England.  Sir  Owen 
was  very  anxious  to  impress  him  in  every  possible  way. 
He  was  visiting  at  one  of  the  houses  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  was  received  by  Sir  Owen  with  great  empressement. 

"I  do  not  see  Lady  Chevenix,"  said  the  major;  "lam 
unfortunate  in  arriving  so  late. " 

"We  shall  find  Lady  Chevenix  somewhere  in  the. 
grounds, "  said  Sir  Owen,  and  he  proudly  introduced  him, 
to  the  county  magnates. 

Suddenly  the  major  touched  his  arm. 

"Who  is  that  beautiful  woman  yonder?"  he  asked,  in 
wonder. 

"Which?"  said  Sir  Owen. 

"  The  one  in  blue  and  white  there,  talking  to  that  dark, 
handsome  man. " 

Sir  Owen's  face  brightened  with  pleasure. 

" That  is  my  wife,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  said.  "  Come,  and 
I  will  introduce  you. " 

"I  had  heard  that  Lady  Chevenix  was  beautiful,"  he  re- 
plied, "  but  I  had  not  expected  to  see  such  perfection.  And 
the  gentleman — who  is  he  ?  His  face  is  a  striking  one. " 

He  is  my  lawyer  and  agent ;  his  name  is  Felix  Lonsdale. 
It  is  strange  that  on  the  first  occasion  of  meeting  them  you 
should  see  them  together.  He  was  a  great  admirer  of  my 
wife  years  ago." 

Major  Rawson  was  not  surprised  to  hear  it;  such  a 
woman  as  that  might  have  any  number  of  admirers. 

He  looked  from  the  handsome  face  of  the  young  lawyer 
to  the  dark,  evil,  dissipated  countenance  of  the  baronet  by 
his  side,  and  wondered  in  silence  how  any  woman  could 
have  chosen  between  the  two  men,  and  have  chosen  so 
badly. 

Later  on  in  the  afternoon  he  stood  by  Lady  Maude,  and 
they  were  both  watching  Lady  Chevenix.  The  brave  soldier 
who  had  won  his  cross  by  acts  of  valor  worthy  of  a  hero- 
was  wonderfully  impressed  by  Lady  Chevenix. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  face, "  he  paid,  u  although  I  may 
never  see  it  again.  How  beautiful  it  is.  And  yet  there  is 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  205 

a  shadow  over  it.    It  is  not  the  face  of  a  happy  woman,  is 
it,  Lady  Maude  ?" 

"No,  not  quite,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly. 

"  Is  Lady  Chevenix  happy  ?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  My  dear  major,  what  a  question  to  ask  me !"  she  re- 
plied. "Who  shall  say  which  of  us  is  happy?  I  think 
Lady  Chevenix  loves  wealth  and  position  better  than  any- 
thing in  the  world — and  she  has  both. " 

"  Is  it  well  for  us  to  have  our  heart's  desires?"  he  asked, 
gravely.  "  I  have  often  wondered  about  that. " 

"I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Lady  Maude— u I  have  not  mine." 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  major,  "but  this  beautiful  lady,  you 
say,  has  hers  ?" 

He  thought  Lady  Maude  singularly  reticent  on  the  sub- 
ject, the  fact  being  that  she  never  liked  to  hear  I.ady 
Chevenix  mentioned.  She  could  not  forgive  her  f  :>r  all  she 
had  made  Felix  suffer ;  she  could  not  bear  to  think  of  so 
worthy  a  young  fellow  having  been  made  wretched  tin 
the  caprice  of  a  woman.  She  never  liked  to  remember  the 
day  and  the  hour  in  which  she  had  found  him  stricken  like 
one  dead  by  the  treachery  of  a  false  woman. 

She  said  as  little  as  possible  about  Lady  Chevenix  at  all 
times.     She  was  half  vexed  that  Major  Rawson  should  ad- 
mire her,  for,  if  Lady  Maude  had  in  her  noble  hea 
weakness,  it  was  a  great  admiration   for  the  hero  of 
Victoria  Cross.     She  would  have  liked  to  think  1 
above  the  weakness  of  admiring  a  fare  merelj 
was  beautiful ;  she  would  have  felt  better  pleased  it  he  bad 
praised  it  for  being  noble.    Lady  Maude  admired  nobi 
more  than  beauty,  and  could  not  understand  any  man  b 
a  slave  to  beauty. 

She  liked  Major  Rawson,  and  she  said  to  herself  n< 
her  exalted  fashion,  that  he  was  the  kmd  of  hero  she  ap- 
proved of.    Her  noble  fare  brightened  with  hap,, 
he  was  by  her  side;  she  liked  to  hear  him  speak  ;  h 
ence  was  a  source  of  unwonted  pleasure  to 

too   proud  and  stately  to   say  to   herself   that   ah 

him  in  any  way,  though   she  had  *  l^eat  adm 


206  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Sir  Owen.  Some  one  gave  him  an  explanation  of  it,  and  he 
came  back  to  ask  Lady  Maude  if  it  were  correct. 

"I  wish  you  would  not  ask  me,"  she  said,  "for  it  is  a 
story  I  do  not  like  to  hear  or  to  speak  of. " 

"  Your  wishes  are  my  law  on  every  subject,"  replied  the 
major.  "  If  you  tell  me  that  I  must  not  ask  you  I  will  not, 
but  I  am  deeply  interested,  and  I  do  not  often  interest 
myself  in  other  persons'  affairs." 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  what  happened,"  she  replied,  for  to  no 
creature  living  had  Lady  Maude  ever  betrayed  one  word  of 
the  confidence  Felix  had  reposed  in  her.  "  The  occurrence," 
she  continued,  "is  unfortunately  very  common.  Lady 
Chevenix,  then  Miss  Violet  Haye — '  beautiful  Violet  Haye, ' 
she  was  called — was  engaged  to  marry  Felix  Lonsdale.  I 
believe  that  if  Sir  Owen  had  delayed  his  coming  for  three 
months  longer  they  would  have  been  married.  He  came, 
and  with  his  vast  wealth  and  title  soon  became  the  lion  of 
this  part  of  the  county.  How  she  broke  her  troth-plight, 
and  why  she  broke  it,  what  excuses  she  made  to  herself  or 
others  made  for  her,  I  cannot  tell  you ;  but  it  is  quite  cer- 
tain that  she  went  to  London,  and  that  Sir  Owen  followed 
and  married  her  there." 

"  There  can  be  but  one  explanation — she  must  have  given 
up  her  lover  for  the  baronet,"  said  the  major,  "but  I  cannot 
imagine  any  woman  preferring  Sir  Owen  Chevenix  to  Felix 
Lonsdale." 

u  You  forget  that  Sir  Owen  had,  as  the  old  song  says, 
houses  and  lands,  while  Mr.  Felix  Lonsdale  had  nothing 
but  his  brains." 

The  major  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  then  he 
asked : 

"  Is  the  world  very  hard  on  these  sins,  Lady  Maude  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  know  that  society  receives  Lady 
Chevenix  with  open  arm.,." 

"  And  what  do  women  call  such  sins  ?"  he  asked  again. 
"  What  is  the  name  they  go  by  in  this  curious  world  called 
society  ?" 

"  People  give  them  different  names — some  call  them  pru- 
dence, some  faithlessness." 

"  What  do  you  call  such  behavior  ?"  he  asked. 

"Mine  is  a  plain,  unfashionable  term,"  said  Lady  Maude. 
"  I  call  the  woman  who  breaks  her  word  to  her  lover  a  jilt, 
and  I  call  the  wrong  she  does  by  its  right  name  of  perfidy." 

Major  Rawson  admired  the  speaker  all  the  more  for  her 
frankness. 

And  so  Sir  Owen's  garden-party  passed  off  well,  every 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  207 

one  praising  the  graceful,  beautiful  hostess,  but  no  one  saw 
her  standing  later  on  in  the  evening  with  tears  in  her 
watching  the  sunset. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

RECITING    POETRY. 

Sir  Owen    had    a  novel  idea — it  was,   when  the  .Time 
quarter-day  came  around,  to  invite  the  principal  tenants  to 
due  at  Garswood.     Such  things  were  done  by  the 
landed   proprietors  of  the   county,  and  he  was  desirous  of 
imitating  them.     This  reminded  him  that  there  wei  • 
oral   other  matters  that  required   attention -some   <•: 
tenants'  leases  had  fallen  in,  and  to  renew  them  would  re- 
quire a  long  and  patient  search  in  the  iron  room.  wh. 
deeds  and  documents  of  value  were  preserved.     Tliei 
another  important  piece  of  business  on  hand.     One  of  the 
farmers  in  the  neighborhood   had   sold  some  land   \»  Sir 
Owen  Chevenix,  but  soon  after  the   sale   lie   died,  and  his 
successors  disputed  his  right  to  sell.     Most  of  the  old  title- 
deeds  of  the  Garswood  estate  required  careful  peru.-i! 
Sir  Owen  invited  haivy  Lousdale   to  stay  for  a  tew  d 
Garswood.     It  would  be  much  easier,  he  thought,  for  him 
to  read  all   the  various  papers  there  than  to   1 
taken  to  his  office. 

Mr.  Lonsdale  thought  so,  too,  and  promised  to 
to  the  Hall,  but  shortly  before  the  appointed   time 
important  law  business  called  for  his  presence  m 

"I  must  go,"  he  said  to  Felix,  uand  you  will  have  t 
my  place  at  Garswood— no  one  else  .-an  do  it.     Wfc 
you  say,  Felix  ?    If  you  dislike  it,  I  will  give  up  my 
engagement,  but  I  do  not  think  it  can  make  any  diffe 
to  you.     What  do  you  And   the  elder  man    1 

anxiously  into  the  face  of  his  son. 

Felix   was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  fa 
•with  a  frank  rmile :  ,      .  t 

"It  can't  m-tter,  father;  I  go  as  a  man  of  busn 
as  a  friend.    I  will  do  it  with  pleasure.    It  would  be » i» 
for  you  just  to  write  and  hint  to  Sir  Owen   that   he 

Pr"ierdo°not.  think  he  would,"  returned  Darcy  Lon 
"you  are  decidedly  his  tavorite  Felix." 

Mr.  Lonsdale  was  right.     Sir  « >wen  was  ni1Kjh 
the  change.     He  passed  the  lawyer's  letter  to  his 
ehe  read  it. 


208  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  am  very  t)J eased,"  he  said.  "Felix  is  cleverer  than 
his  father,  and  I  like  him.  See  that  he  has  a  nice  room, 
and  that  his  comforts  are  well  attended  to." 

She  made  some  vague  reply — it  seemed  to  her  that 
heaven  and  earth  were  about  to  meet.  That  Felix  should 
ever  be  under  her  roof  as  her  guest  seemed  to  her  a  most 
wonderful  thing.  How  should  she  receive  him?  "Would 
he  soften  a  little  in  his  manner  to  her  ?  How  fervently  she 
hoped  that  Sir  Owen  would  treat  her,  if  not  kindly,  at  least 
with  some  outward  semblance  of  respect  before  her  old 
lover.  She  was  glad  that  Marian  Hethcote  was  still  with 
her — it  would  have  been  awkward  to  have  met  him  alone. 

When  Sir  Owen  had  quitted  the  room  Marian  placed  her 
hands  upon  Lady  Chevenix's  shoulders  and  looked  into 
her  face. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "do  you  like  this  arrangement? 
Does  it  please  or  vex  you  ?" 

Lady  Chevenix  met  her  gaze  with  a  calm  smile. 

"It  does  neither,"  she  replied,  and  then  Miss  Hethcote 
understood  that  the  subject  of  Felix  Lonsdale  was  not  to  be 
reopened  between  them. 

Lady  Chevenix  never  forgot  the  evening  when  Felix 
came.  It  seemed  to  her  that  everything  looked  the  brighter 
and  the  better  for  his  coming.  Sir  Owen  had  given  orders 
that  the  dinner  should  be  delayed  until  he  arrived. 

Felix  Lonsdale  and  Lady  Chevenix  met  with  seeming  in- 
difference. She  looked  very  beautiful ;  she  wore  a  dinner- 
dress  of  white  lace,  with  lilies  of  the  valley  in  her  hair. 
She  held  out  her  hand  in  greeting  to  him. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  she  said.  "I 
hope  you  will  have  a  few  pleasant  days  with  us."  • 

Miss  Hethcote  next  had  something  to  say  to  him,  and 
then  Sir  Owen  entered  the  room.  He  was  most  effusive  in 
his  greeting.  He  was  delighted  to  see  his  guest ;  he  hoped 
he  would  make  himself  quite  at  home,  and  enjoy  himself 
as  much  as  possible. 

Violet  could  not  help  contrasting  the  two  men  as  they 
stood  for  that  one  moment  side  by  side — Sir  Owen's  awk- 
ward figure  and  coarse  face  with  the  grand  beauty  of  Felix 
Lonsdale,  the  nobility  of  the  untitled  man  with  the  com- 
monplaceness  of  the  titled  one.  The  contrast  was  both 
sharp  and  strong ;  she  felt  it  keenly. 

Then  they  went  in  to  dinner.  Sir  Owen  was  in  one  of  hjs 
best  humors,  and  everything  went  off  well.  For  so  much 
Lady  Cheveuix  was  thaixkJUl ;  every  hour  spent  without 
an  outbreak  was  a  gain  to  her. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  209 

"You  will  give  us  this  one  evening,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  said 
Sir  Owen.  u  Enjoy  yourself  a  little  before  you  begin  to 
work. " 

It  was  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  him.  If  ho  had 
consulted  his  own  inclination  he  would  have  preferred  to 
begin  work  at  once,  but  he  could  hardly  be  impolite  enough 
to  say  so. 

Sir  Owen  liked  to  sleep  after  he  had  dined.  Felix  de- 
clined to  take  wine,  and  the  baronet,  thinking  in  his  heart 
that  the  young  lawyer  was  a  simpleton  for  it,  went  into 
the  drawing-room  with  him,  and  then  fell  asleep.  Before, 
he  closed  h  is  eyes  he  said  : 

"Lady  Chevenix,  Mr.  Lonsdale  will  like  to  see  the 
grounds,  I  am  sure.  You  and  Miss  Hethcote  will  both 
enjoy  a  stroll." 

He  never  once  thought  that  he  was  submitting  his  young 
wife   to   a  most  deadly  peril — the  peril  of  a  gn-at  tempta- 
tion.    He  never  thoxight  of  Felix  Lonsdale  as  of  «.ne  who 
had  been  his  wife's  lover.     He  had  heen  engaged  to  : 
that  was  a  well-known,  fact;  but,  so  soon  as  he,  il;> 
torious  knight,  had  appeared,  lie  had  retired  from  the  eon- 
test   defeated,  and    there   was   an   end   of  it  all.      He  eon 
sidered  that  he  had  raised  his  Avife  so  completely  above   all 
her  past  life,  that  he  had  taken   her  so  completely  out    of 
her  old  sphere,  that  nothing  which  had  interested   her  then 
could   interest   her  now — he,    never  pondered   the  fact    that 
Felix  Lonsdale,  the  rising  lawyer,  the  man  of  promise,  the 
most  clever  and  skillful  practitioner  in  the  county, 
his    wife's   old   lover.     So   he  lay  down  in  p.  itent 

while    he    sent    his   young  wife  out  into  the  lovely  summer 
gloaming  with  her  old  lover. 

They  walked  on,  all  three  together,  Baying  little,  hut 
thinking  perhaps  all  the  more.  They  passed  through  the 
pleasure  grounds  ;  they  lingered  amon.^  the  roses  and  the 
lily  blooms;  they  watched  the  gold  fish  in  the  foui 
The  air  was  balmy,  sweet,  and  fragrant  with  the  odor  «f 
flowers. 

"Let  us  go  on  to  the  park,"  said  Marian  Hethcote;  it 
will  be  very  pleasant  there." 

They  passed  through  the   shrubbery  and    rut 
park.     The   beautiful   fragrant   gloaming   had  set    in; 
water  of  the  lake  was  tinged   mth  crimson  and  gol 
lovely  light  lay  over  the   trees  ;  there    was  a  faint  mm 
as  the  wind  swayed  the   branches  ..f   the  trees  and 
the  leaves.     The  peace  and  beauty,  the  loveliness  and  : 
pose,  touched  them. 


210  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  Shall  we  sit  down  here, "  said  Lady  Chevenix,  "  by  the 
lake  side,  and  watch  the  light  die  out  over  the  water  ?" 

They  sat  down,  the  two  ladies  side  by  side,  Felix,  near- 
est to  Miss  Hethcote,  at  their  feet.  Marian  was  talking 
ga-yly  to  him ;  Lady  Chevenix  said  but  little.  He  who  once 
loved  her  with  such  a  passionate  love  looked  at  her.  No 
dream  of  poet  or  painter  could  ever  have  been  more  fair. 
The  evening  light  fell  upon  her  face,  which  was  raised  to 
the  sky  as  she  watched  the  crimson  clouds ;  it  touched  her 
golden  hair  and  was  reflected  by  the  rich  jewels  that  she 
wore.  She  had  thrown  a  white  lace  shawl  over  her  white 
neck  and  bare  arms ;  a  corner  of  it  was  over  her  head,  and 
the  shadow  of  it  softened  her  features.  She  listened  to  the 
lively  sallies  of  her  girl-friend,  wondering  if  she  should 
ever  again  be  so  happy,  so  light  of  heart. 

Then  Marian  sang  a  quaint  little  song — a  ballad  telling 
the  story  of  a  knight  who  had  ridden  away  to  the  Holy 
Land,  leaving  a  girl-bride  who  died  while  he  was  away — a 
sweet,  sad  song,  just  suited  to  the  hour  and  the  gloaming. 

"Now,  Lady  Chevenix,"  she  said,  "you  must  sing  for  us, 
too ;  sing  that  beautiful  song  you  were  practicing  this 
morning. " 

"I  was  not  practicing,"  returned  Lady  Chevenix.  "I 
was  trying  to  put  some  words  to  an  air  I  think  very  sad 
and  sweet.  If  you  would  like  to  hear  it,  I  will  sing  it. 
Would  you  care  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Lonsdale  ?" 

He  murmured  some  commonplace  words  about  his  hav- 
ing always  liked  good  music.  She  smiled  bitterly  to  her- 
self, and  then,  in  a  low,  sad,  sweet  voice,  she  sang  these 
words : 

"  '  Yes,  dear,  our  love  is  slain—- 
In the  cold  grave  for  evermore  it  lies, 

Never  to  wake  again 
Or  light  our  sorrow  with  its  starry  eyes; 

And  so  regret  is  vain. 

"  '  We  should  have  seen  it  shine 
Long  years  beside  us.     Time  and  Death  might  fay 

To  touch  that  love  divine, 
Whose  strength  could  ev'ry  other  stroke  defy 

Save — only  mine  ! 

"  '  No  longing  can  restore 
Our  dead  again.    Vain  are  the  tears  we  weep  ; 

And  vainly  we  deplore 

Our  buried  love.     Its  grave  lies  dark  and  deep 
Between  us  evermore.'  " 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  211 

Her  voice  died  away  in  a  low,  sweet  murmur  that 
like  the  love-plaint  of  a  bird,  and  they  were  silent  for 
minutes,  none  caring  to  break  the  spell.   Then  Felix  looked 
at  her. 

"I  remember  those  words,"  he  said;  "they  are  1 
from  a  poem  called  'Lost  Alice,'  by  Adelaide  Anne  Troc- 
ter.     I  gave  you  the  book,  I  think,  Lady  Chevenix." 

That  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  alluded  to  the  : 
he  had  until  now   always   treated    her  as  a  str;r 
lady  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced  for  the  first  time  by 
Sir  Owen  Chevem'x. 

Her  face  brightened  when  she  heard  it;  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  broken  chain  had  been  taken  up  in  those  simple 
words. 

"Yes,  you  gave  it  to  me,"  she  acknowledged;  "ami  I 
know  every  word  of  the  poem  by  heart — I  have  read  it  so 
often." 

He  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Indeed  !"  he  said.  "  I  thought  that  you  did  not  care  for 
poetry  at  all,  Lady  Chevenix." 

" I  fancied  that  I  did  not,  but  I   was  mistaken.     During 
these  later  years  I  have  learned   to   value  and    und'T 
many  things  that  were  once  like  so  many  dead  lett< 
me." 

"I  wish,"  said  Marian  Hethcote,  "that  we  could  under- 
stand everything  at  once.  As  it  is,  we  learn  little  quickly  ; 
it  takes  long  years  to  teach  us  the  simplest  lessons,  and  by 
the  time  they  are  learned  we  must  die.  As  my  favorite 
poet  says : 

44  'We  live— we   love;  and  then 

St. in.'  <l.-:id  \ve  lie. 
O  Life,  is  all  thy  song 
Endure  and  die  ?' 

How  much  more  pleasant  it  would  be  if  we  could  n 
everything  at  once.       What  mistakes  and    bin 
make!     I  read  the  other  day  of  a  givat  and  wisi-  man   who, 
when  he  came  to  die,  said,  'My  life  has  hem  all  a  misl 
Mr.  Lonsdale,  I  am  growing  quite  sad ;  it  is  your  turn  t 
sing  for  us. "  _  .  .   , 

"  I  cannot  sing,  but  I  will  repeat  some  verses  that  1 
very  beautiful,  if  you  would  like  to  hear  them. 

"Whose  are  they?"  asked  Lady  Chevenix. 

"They  are  Miss  Procter's,"  he  replied,  and  no  turn 
face  away  from  her  while  he  recited  them. 

It  seemed  to  Lady  Chevenix  as  though  the  wind  fell 


212  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

all  nature  were  hushed  to  listen.  There  was  no  passion, 
no  regret,  in  the  low,  rich  tones — they  were  clear  and  sweet 
and  eloquent — but  each  word  as  it  fell  in  the  fragrant 
gloaming  seemed  to  burn  itself  on  her  heart  and  brain. 

"  The  poem  is  called  '  Parting, '  "  said  Felix,  "  and  is  so 
beautiful  in  itself  that  it  cannot  fail  to  please. 

" '  Without  one  bitter  feeling  let  us  part ; 

And  for  the  years  in  which  your  love  has  shed 
A  radiance  like  a  glory  round  my  head 
I  thank  you— yes,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart. 

"  '  I  thank  you — and  no  grief  is  in  these  tears  ; 
I  thank  you,  not  in  bitterness,  but  truth, 
For  the  fair  vision  that  adorned  my  youth 
And  glorified  so  many  happy  years. 

" '  Y«t  how  much  more  I  thank  you  that  you  tore 
At  length  the  vail  your  hand  had  woven  away, 
Which  told  my  idol  was  a  thing  of  clay, 
And  false  the  altar  I  had  knelt  before  ! 

'*  '  I  thank  you  that  yon  taught  me  the  stern  truth 
None  other  could  have  told  and  I  believed — 
That  vain  had  been  my  love  and  I  deceived, 
And  wasted  all  the  purpose  of  my  youth. 

*' '  I  thank  you  that  your  hand  dashed  down  the  shrine 
Wherein  my  idol  worship  I  had  paid  ; 
Else  had  I  never  known  a  soul  was  made 
To  serve  and  worship  only  the  Divine. 

41 '  I  thank  you  for  a  terrible  awaking— 

And,  if  reproach  seemed  hidden  in  my  pain, 
And  sorrow  seemed  to  cry  on  your  disdain, 
Know  that  my  blessing  lay  in  your  forsaking. 

"  '  Farewell  forever  now — in  peace  we  part ; 
And  should  an  idle  vision  of  my  tears 
Arise  before  your  soul  in  after  years, 
Remember  that  I  thank  you  from  my  heart.'  " 

So  clearly,  one  by  one,  with  cruel  distinctness,  the  words 
sounded  in  Violet's  ears.  She  knew,  she  understood  that 
that  was  what  he  would  say  to  her ;  in  his  mind  there  could 
never  be  even  the  faintest  renewal  of  their  past  friendship, 
in  his  heart  he  thanked  her  that  his  unhappy  love,  his 
great  abiding  sorrow,  had  taught  him  many  noble  lessons. 
She  understood — he  had  said  it  delicately  and  kindly,  but 
he  had  meant  it — that  the  whole  past  was  buried  for  him ; 
he  thanked  her  that  she  had  taught  him  to  suffer,  and 
suffer  in  silent  strength. 


WEAKER  THAS  A  WOMAN.  91* 

was  quite  silent  for  many  minutes  after  he  had 
it  was  Marian  who  talked  to  him  and  made  him 
recite  lor  them  again  and  again. 

The  sun  had  set,  the  crimson  and  gold  had  faded  from 
jhe  water,  a  gray  shade  had  fallen  over  it — all  was  quiet, 
calm,  peaceful.  Lady  Chevenix  rested  her  head  against  the 
gnarled  trunk  of  an  old  tree ;  the  peace  and  repose  were 
novel  to  her.  Presently  a  slight  sound  in  the  distance 
startled  her. 

"What  is  that?"  she  said. 

"  '  It  was  only  the  deer  that  were  feeding 
In  a  herd  on  the  clover  grass:'" 

sang  Marian,  and  Felix  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"I  know  that,"  he  said.  "You  are  quoting  from  a  ballad 
called  'Hush.'  Strange  to  say,  I  was  thinking  of  it  a  short 
time  since.  The  words  were  running  through  my  brain." 

" They  have  run  through  my  heart,"  remarked  Marian, 
"often  and  often.  I  am  matter -.•!  tart  myself,  hut  that 
song  always  brings  tears  to  my  eyes.  Repeat  it  for  OB,  -Mr. 
Lonsdale." 

"I  will.     There  is  something  in  the  time  thai 
words.     The  light  is  dying  in  the  sky,  the  sun  has  .set,  the 
flowers  are  sleeping,  the  wood-pigeons  are  silent,  the  air  is 
full  of  dreams. 

«• «  "I  can  scarcely  hear,"  she  murmured, 

r  my  heart  beats  loud  and  : 
But  surely,  in  the  far,  far  distance, 
I  can  hear  a  sound  at  last? 

"  It  is  only  the  reapers  sinking 

hey  carry  home  their  sheaves, 
And  the  evening  bree/e  has  risen, 
Ami  rustles  ;he  dying  leaves." 

"  '  "  Listen  !     There  arc  voices  talking  !" 

iy  ..till  she  str-% 

Yet  her  voice  grew  faint  and  trembling, 
And  the  red  Hushed  in  h 

"It  is  only  the  children  playing, 

,  n,,w  their  w..rk  is  done. 
And  they  lauyh  that  th-ir  .izzlod 

Uy  the  ra. 

**  'Fainter  <jrc'w  her  voice,  ar; 

.vith  nnxi" 

"Down  the  avenue  of  cli--stnuts 
I  can  hear  a  horseman  ride  !" 

"It  was  only  the  deer  that  were  feeding 
In  a  herd  on  the  clover  grass  ; 


fll±  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

They  were  startled  and  fled  to  the  thicket 
As  they  saw  the  reapers  pass.'J 

41 '  Now  the  night  arose  in  silence, 
Birds  lay  in  their  leafy  nest, 
And  the  deer  couched  in  the  forest, 
And  the  children  were  at  rest. 

There  was  only  a  sound  of  weeping 

From  watchers  around  a  bed — 
But  rest  to  the  weary  spirit. 
Peace  to  the  quiet  dead. ' :; 

There  was  silence  as  the  last  words  fell,  and  Lady  Cheve- 
nix  bowed  her  head,  so  as  to  hide  her  tears.  The  gray 
shadows  fell  darker. 

A  loud  voice  roused  them. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  Where  have  you  hidden  yourselves  ? 
Surely  a  ramble  among  the  flowers  does  not  mean  an  en- 
carnpment  by  the  lake." 

Through  the  clear  fragrant  air  came  the  odor  of  a  cigar, 
and  Sir  Owen,  looking  very  cross,  suddenly  appeared  be- 
fore them. 

"I  could  not  find  you  anywhere,"  he  said,  in  a  sullen 
tone.  "  You  must  have  hidden  yourselves  on  purpose. " 

Lady  Chevenix  did  not  answer  him,  because  she  knew 
that  it  was  needless  to  do  so.  Miss  Hethcote  was  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

"If  we  had  wanted  to  hide,"  she  said,  "we  should  have 
hidden.  As  we  did  not,  we  remained  here.  If  you  are 
going  to  be  cross,  Sir  Owen,  do  not  spoil  an  agreeable 
party  by  joining  it." 

He  laughed  then,  and  sat  down  with  them,  but  the 
beauty,  the  poetry  and  peace,  were  all  gone.  He  began  to 
teL  of  a  fight  he  had  seen  between  a  King  Charles'  spaniel 
•a IK  a  toy  terrier ;  laughing  heartily  at  it,  and  wondering 
they  did  not  laugh  also.  It  was  an  exquisite  joke  to  him  to 
tell  how  the  little  King  Charles  lay  dying — and  even  in 
dying  tried  to  lick  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  enjoy  seeing  anything  suffer,  Sir  Owen, "  asked 
Miss  Hethcote. 

"  I  think  a  dog-fight,  or  anything  cf  that  kind,  capital 
eport,"  he  answered. 

"But  the  unfortunate  creatures  must  feel." 

"  Feel !"  sneered  Sir  Owen.  "  What  nonsense  !  Foxes 
were  made  to  be  hunted,  rats  to  be  worried,  dogs  to  fight. 
Why  should  they  feel?" 

With  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders  she  turned  away  from 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  215 

Kim.    Sir  Owen  laughed  again ;  he  rather  enjoyed  a  dispute 
with  a  pretty  girl. 

"  I  am  not  one  of  your  sentimentalists,"  he  said.  "  Now, 
Mr  Lonsdale  could  give  you  poems  by  the  yard,  I  am  SUIT." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do  so,"  remarked  Felix;  "at 
the  same  time  I  give  the  preference  to  poetry  rathei  than 
to  dog-fights." 

Sir  Owen  laughed   again ;  in  his  own  opinion  he  -\\ 
most  manly  man,  and  Felix  most  insignificant.    Felix  an.se 
from  his  seat  and  strolled  away;  he  felt  disgust  almost 
amounting  to  hatred  for  this  coarse,  vulgar,  re|  u'sive  man. 

uDo  not  leave  us,  Mr.  Lonsdale,"  said  Sir  (hven.  "I 
will  take  Miss  Hethcote  indoors,  and  you  can  escort  her 
ladyship — though  she  looks  decidedly  sullen." 

It  was  useless  for  Lady  Chevenix  to  say  that  she  had    no 
thought  of  being  sullen  ;  when  Sir  Owen  had  once  asserted 
a  thing  he  maintained  it.     She  looked  up  into  tl: 
Felix  Lonsdale  with  a  smile  that  made  his  heart  beat  ; 
than  usual. 

"That  is  not  one  of  my  faults,"  she  said.     "I  do   n. 
member  having  ever  been  sullen  in  my  life  ;  I  have  seldom 
been  out  of  temper." 

He  remembered  the  sweet  sunny  temper  that  had  i 
known   cloud    or   variableness,  but    offered  no  remar1,. 
had  resolved  to  himself  so  often  that  nothing  should  induce 
him  to  talk  to  her  about  the  past.    They  walked  toward  the 
house  through  the  deepening  shadows,  and  said  but  little  t«> 
each  other. 

When  they  reached  the  Hall  Lady  Chevenix  was  gr- 
to  find  a  telegram  from  Mrs.  Hethcote.    Some  fi , 

arrived    quite    unexpectedly,  and  she  wished   Marian 
turn  at  once.     Felix  wondered  why  the   mistress   of 
wood  should  turn  so  white  when  she  had  read  the  t.-L 
—why  she  should  place  her  hands  upon  the  girl's   shoulder 
and  say  to  her  so  sadly  : 

"What  shall  1  do  without  you,  Mar 

"I  will  come  back  to  you  as  soon  as  I  can,  dear  Lady 
Chevenix,"  replied  the  girl,  "and  in  the  meantime  Mr. 
Lonsdale  will  be  here." 

Afterward,  when  Lady  Chevenix  bad  gon. 
about  her  journey.  Miss  Hethcote  said,  suddenly,  i 

"I  shall  go  away  much  happier  for  leaving  you  ' 

"I   shall   be    here    for  a  few  days  only,"  returned 
"Why  should  you  be  happy  about  my  being  here  I 
understand." 

"I  may  speak  freely  to  you,"  said  Miss  Hethcote;     yoi 


216  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

know  them,  and  you  belong  in  some  measure  to  them.  I 
may  tell  you  that  Lady  Cnevenix  lives  in  mortal  fear  of 
her  husband." 

"Why?"  asked  Felix. 

"  He  has  been  very  violent  to  her  many  times.  It  is  not 
long  since  she  had  to  send  for  Mrs.  Haye,  being  afraid  of 
losing  her  life.  She  has  refused  to  be  left  alone  since  then. 
That  is  why  I  have  been  with  her  so  long,  and  why  I  am 
.glad  you  are  here. " 

"But,"  said  Felix,  "he  loves  her — he  must  love  her." 

"  I  say  nothing  about  that.  He  may  love  her,  or  he  may 
not,  but,  when  he  is  half  mad  with  drink,  she  has  reason  to 
be  alarmed." 

"I  cannot  think  that  even  then  he  would  hurt  her,"  said 
Felix. 

"  Well,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  have  such  cheerful  views  of 
things.  I  should  be  glad  if  I  could  share  your  faith,  but 
unfortunately  I  have  seen  bruises  on  her  arms  and  marks 
on  her  face,  such  as,  if  I  had  been  a  man,  would  have  made 
me  feel  inclined  to  call  Sir  Owen  out. " 

She  saw  the  handsome  face  of  the  man  before  her  grow 
pale  with  emotion.  She  saw  his  strong  hands  tremble  and 
his  fingers  clench  tightly.  She  talked  until  the  storm  of 
passion  had  passed  over  him. 

"I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  any  woman  being  ill-used,"  he 
said  ;  "  it  is  one  of  the  things  that  irritates  me  and  makes 
me  angry  with  an  anger  that  frightens  me.  But  Lady 
Chevenix  is  so  gentle,  so  amiable,  I  cannot  understand  any 
man  being  unkind  to  her. " 

"I  can  understand  anything  Sir  Owen  does,"  rejoined 
Miss  Hethcote.  "Mr.  Lonsdale,  you  will  be  kind  to  her?" 
she  pleaded.  "  Believe  me  that  a  peasant- woman  working 
in  the  fields,  or  a  factory  girl  in  a  mill,  is  happier  than 
Lady  Chevenix  of  Garswood." 

"  I  am  grieved  to  hear  it'"  he  said,  and  then  Miss  Heth- 
•cote  left  him. 

She  went  away  early  the  next  morning,  never  dreaming 
of  what  would  happen  before  she  saw  Garswood  and  its 
mistress  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

* 

THE  BLOW   IN   THE  FACE. 

On  the  morning  after  Miss  Heth cote's  departure  Sir  Owen 
did  not  come  down  to  breakfast,  but  Felix  met  his  valet 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  217 

with  some  soda  water  and  brandy.  The  young  lawyer  de- 
scended to  the  breakfast-room,  where  Lady  Chevenix 
awaited  him.  She  looked  very  fair  and  young  in  her  pretty 
morning-dress.  She  was  so  pleased  to  see  him  ;  her  face 
brightened,  her  eyes  met  his  with  such  a  glad  light  ;  she 
could  not  be  cold  and  formal  to  him. 

"  How  true  you  are  to  your  colors,  Lady  Chevenix  !"  he 
said  "  Blue  and  white—  I  hardly  remember  to  have  seen 
you  wear  anything  else." 

"You  will  own  that  they  are  pretty  colors,  will  you  not?" 
she  asked,  with  a  smile—  one  of  those  charming  smiles 
that  stir  a  man's  heart  and  pulse. 

He  sat  down  at  the  breakfast-table  with  her,  and  he 
asked  himself  had  fate  ever  placed  another  man  in  such  a 
predicament  before. 

"See,"  she  said,  "I  remember  your  tastes.  You  like  tea 
better  than  coffee,  and  you  like  fruit.  Tlu-M-  strawberries 
have  just  been  gathered  ;  they  liave  the  dew  on  them. 

She  talked  to  him  during  breakfast,  so  gayly,  so   kindly, 
but,  when  he  looked  at  her,  there  was  something  almost 
pathetic  in  her  eyes—  something  that  in  spite  <>t  her  I 
liant  beauty,  was  half  sad.     Then,  when  they  had  finished 
breakfast,  a  servant  came  in  to  say  thai  Sir  Owen  woul< 
join  them  in  a  few  minutes,  and  would  take   Mr.  Lon 
to  the  strong-room. 

The  long  French  windows  were  open,  and   -n-at    heavy 
red  roses  came  peeping  in.     L-'idy  (  'hevenix  went  f.  them  ; 
Felix  followed  her,  and  they  si  .....  1   talking  to* 
Borne  vague  way  the  years  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  1 
the  terrible  past  for  a  few  moments  ^asforgoton.    He  wa 
like  the  Felix  of  old,  she  like  beautiful  \  m  et  Haye. 
had  just  a  few  happv   minutes,  during   which   they 
only  of  the  roses  before  then,   and  the  pleasant  pr 
Then  Sir  Owen  came  in.  and  it    was   as    though    the    u  h< 
face  of  the  heavens  had  changed, 

The  baronet  and  his  1,-al  adviser  went  away  **&£* 
and  Felix  spent  the  whole  of  the  Jay*  the  strong 
reading  documents  and  papers  of  aU  kinds 
Sir  Owen  and  his  wife  again  until  dinner,  and  t 
first  day  of  his  visit  passed  quietly  enough. 

the  second  the  tenanl  ^ 


- 


218  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

After  a  pleasant  day  they  left  Garswood  early  in  the  even 
ing. 

Lady  Chevenix  had  been  alone  all  day;  the  servants 
were  in  attendance  on  the  numerous  guests,  and  in  the 
evening  she  asked  for  tea,  thinking  that  Sir  Owen  and  Felix 
would  like  to  join  her.  Sir  Owen,  who  had  drank  more 
brandy  in  a  few  hours  than  another  man  would  have  drank 
in  a  week,  made  some  observation  about  her  ladyship's  tea, 
which,  when  repeated  by  the  footman  in  the  servants'  hall, 
caused  great  amusement.  Felix  was  sorry  to  decline,  but 
he  had  some  hours  of  hard  work  yet  in  the  strong-room  ; 
the  leases  were  all  to  be  signed  on  the  morrow. 

When  the  visitors  were  all  gone  he  returned  to  the 
strong-room  and  resumed  his  work.  Lady  Chevenix  wont 
to  him  to  persuade  him  to  let  her  send  some  tea  there,  and 
he  consented.  He  looked  at  her,  as  she  stood  in  that 
darkened  room,  in  her  evening  dress  of  white  silk  and  trail- 
ing lace.  She  wore  a  superb  suite  of  opals,  which  shone 
with  the  "  fire  that  lives  in  gems. "  She  looked  like  a  dream 
of  beauty  in  that  dull,  gloomy  room. 

She  sent  him  sonrfe  tea,  and  asked  him  to  come  to  the 
drawing-room  when  he  had  finished,  and  he  promised  to 
do  so.  When  she  returned  Sir  Owen  lay  on  one  of  the 
couches,  fast  asleep. 

She  was  thankful  to  see  him  asleep,  and  hoped  that  he 
might  wake  up  quite  himself.  She  drew  down  the  blinds 
and  darkened  the  room.  Who  could  tell  what  she  suffered 
in  her  heart,  this  fair,  stately  woman,  who  shrank  so 
keenly  from  all  stigma  of  disgrace,  her  daily,  hourly  dread 
lest  her  husband  should  do  something  that  would  entail 
everlasting  shame  upon  them,  lest  any  one  should  see  him 
in  those  moments  when  he  was  quite  unfit  to  be  seen? 
What  a  ^double  life  she  led,  this  brilliant  and  beautiful 
woman — before  the  world  all  gayety,  smiles,  and  anima- 
tion, in  her  own  heart  always  a  terrible  weight  of  anxiety. 

For  this  evening  at  least  she  was  safe.  She  thought  he 
would  wake  up  himself,  and  then  they  would  spend  a 
happy  hour  with  Felix,  so  she  watched  lest  sound  or  light 
should  disturb  him  until  Mr.  Lonsdale  joined  them. 

He  awoke  at  last,  but  the  sun  had  long  set,  and  the  fra- 
grant silence  of  night  lay  over  the  earth.  She  had  cooling 
fruit  that  was  pleasant  to  eye  and  taste  ready  for  him, 
she  had  everything  that  was  refreshing,  but  no  stimulant, 
fie  pasned  aside  the  purple  grapes  and  the  crimson  straw- 
berries. 

"Where  is  the  brandy?"  he  asked  her.     "The  idea  of 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  219 

offering  a  man  such  things  as  those,"  he  exclaimed.    "Ring 
for.  the  brandy :" 

She  dared  not  refuse — moreover,  refusal  would  have 
been  of  no  use.  She  rang  the  bell  and  gave  the  message, 
but,  before  the  brandy  came,  with 

she  had  lured  him  from  the  room,  hoping  that  he  would 
forget  it.     She  walked  through  the  i  dors  for 

minutes,    talking  to  him,  then  he   suddenly  remem 
Felix,  and  said  nothing  would  satisfy  him  unless  he  left  his 
work  and   joined  them.     lie  went  to   persuade   him,  while 
Lady  Chevenix  ordered  the  lamps  in  the  drawing-room  to 
be  lighted. 

The  two  gentlemen  returned  together,  and  they  ]>] 
for  some  time  at  cribbage,  a  game  for  which 
a  great  liking.     Suddenly  he  remembered  the  brandy,  and 

1  for  it.     Lady  Chevenix  dreaded  its  coming 
the  evening  was   warm,  and   begged  of  him  to  take  some 
iced  tea  instead.     He  laughed  at  her. 

"Listen  to  her  ladyship!''   he  cried.     "T< 
very  name  of  it  makes*  me  shudder.     I  want  brandy— noth- 
ing el 

She  remonstrated  again,  but  very  mildly.     She  felt  that 
••uld  bear  anything  better  than  this,  that  the  man   she 
had  forsaken  should  see  in  his  true  colors  the  man  she  had 
married. 

Those  last  words  proved   too  much  for  SirO 
swore   roundly  at   her.     "What   business  of  1 
asked,  if  he  wanted  a  sea  of  brandy.     Let 
herself — remember  from  what  position  he  hud   taken 
and  not  attempt  to  dictate  to  him  ;  he  would  not  endure  it. 
She  tried  to  soothe  and  conriliate  him  ;  she  D 
have  tried  to  -  panther. 

The  brandy  was  brought,  but  even   then   he   did  T. 

1  humor.    Felix  was  miserable, 
put  down  his  cards  and  1 -night,  but  h 

of   Lady    Chevenix    growing  white,  and   lie 

hl-r.  Miss  Hethcote  bad  told  him  of  SirO 
lence.  He  would  not  leave  her  to  the  meivy 
man,  yet  every  moment  he  n-mained  with  them  \\ 
ture  t<)  him.  Sir  Owen  had  n<»  moderation.  In 
wife  and  Felix  engaged  him  with  cards  and  in 
tion.  Despi:  'liing  he  tilled  and  replenished  bis 

tumbler.  At  length  the  alcohol  began  to  take  such  an 
upon  him  that  Lady  Chevenix  '  prudent  t..  n 

-  It  is  growing  k.'i  -aid  ;  "  wu  had  better  put  O6K 

the  cards." 


220  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Felix ;  "I  am  tired." 

He  had  no  time  to  finish  his  speech.  Sir  Owen  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it.  He  merely  turned  with  a  scowl  to  his 
wife,  and  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder : 

"  Sit  down,  and  go  on  with  the  game. " 

Felix  saw  that  she  trembled  in  every  limb,  yet  she  kept 
all  sign  of  emotion  from  her  face ;  nothing  but  its  pallor 
betrayed  her  fear.  She  sat  down,  but  the  young  lawyer's 
spirit  was  roused.  He  threw  the  cards  upon  the  table. 

"Lady  Chevenix  is  very  amiable  to  go  on  playing, "  he 
said  ;  "I  shall  not.  It  is  late,  and  quite  time  to  leave  off." 

Without  a  word,  and  so  suddenly  that  there  was  no  time 
to  prevent  it,  Sir  Owen  turned  and  struck  his  wife  in  the 
face. 

"Take  that,"  he  said,  "and  mind  you  do  not  interfere 
with  me  again !" 

The  next  moment  a  pair  of  strong  arms  had  seized  him 
and  had  literally  thrown  him  across  the  room.  His  face 
white,  his  whole  body  trembling  with  passion,  Felix  stood 
over  him. 

"  If  you  touch  her  ladyship  again,  if  you  lay  your  cow- 
ardly hands  upon  her,"  he  cried,  "I  will  kill  you  !" 

Then  he  turned  to  Violet.  She  stood  trembling,  with  a 
great  red  mark  across  her  lovely  pale  face — a  mark  that 
burned  like  a  hot  iron. 

"Oh,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  said,  "I  am  so  sorry !  I  ought 
to  have  been  quicker,  more  on  my  guard.  Are  you  much 
hurt?'' 

She  raised  her  face  with  that  terrible  bruise  on  it  to  his, 
and  he  saw  great  tears  in  her  eyes.  For  a  moment  the  old 
impulse  of  love  was  strong  upon  him,  and  he  longed  to 
shelter  the  golden  head,  every  hair  of  which  was  dear  to 
him,  on  his  breast ;  then  he  recollected  himself,  and  said, 
gently : 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  that  this  has  happened.  If 
1  had  been  quicker — "  He  broke  off  abruptly,  for  his  wrath 
was  rising  again.  "I  shall  kill  him,"  he  cried,  "if  he 
touches  you  !" 

She  looked  up  at  him ;  the  bruised  face  touched  his 
heart,  and  he  turned  away.  Sir  Owen  was  lying  just  where 
he  had  thrown  him.  He  went  over  to  him ;  the  baronet  had 
most  composedly  fallen  asleep. 

"Thank  Heaven,"  he  said,  "that  I  did  not  kill  him— that 
I  did  not  do  him  some  deadly  harm.  Shall  I  ring  for  the 
servants  ?"  he  asked  Lady  Chevenix,  and  he  never  forgot 
her  answer. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  '221 

"If  you  would  not  mind  it,"  she  said,  "I  should  be  so 
thankful  if  you  would  place  him  in  a  chair;  I  do  not  like 
the  servants  to  see  all  that  happens. " 

He  raised  Sir  Owen,  who  made  some  violent  plunges  tlio 
while,  and  placed  him  in  a  chair.  The  baronet  fell  placidly 
asleep  again,  and  Felix  went  back  t<>  Lady  Chevenix. 

"  You  must  apply  something  to  your  face,"  he  said,  "or  it 
will  be  black  to-morrow." 

She  smiled   and   raised   the   white  lace  that  fell  over  her 
ai-rn.    He  saw  a  long  dark  bruise,  the  mark  of  a.  cruel  . 
that  had  held  the  delicate  arm  in  an  iron  vise. 

"I  am  seldom  without  a  mark,"  she  told  him,  "hut  I  do 
not  often  find  them  on  my  lac, 

He  looked  sorrowfully  at  the  graceful  woman  who  li.nl 
preferred  money  to  love,  and  had  sufl'ered  so  t'-rrilily  for 
her  choice ;  he  longed  to  say  something  kind  toher.  but 
prudence  forbade  Mm.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him, 
and  he  saw  how  it  trembled.  She  smiled,  and  he 
forgot  the  smile. 

"Some  day,"  she  said,  "he  will  most  probably  kill  me.    If 
he    does    you    will  always    remember  that   1      I  v 
had  grieved  you,  Felix." 

"I  will   remember,"  he   returned,  gravely,     lie  held    her 
hand    for   one   moment   while  he  bade  her  good   nigh: 
then  she  went  away. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

FEAR     AND     ANXIETY. 

.Felix  thought  long  and  anxiously  about   his   r.-tuni  from 
wood.     He  was  glad  that  he  had  treated  SirOw* 

lie  did;  he  said  to  himself  that  he  should  1 

than    a. 'man    had    he   not    acted  as  he  did.      ^  *   not 

likely  that  after  what  had  passed   In-  could  remain  under 

SirOwen's  roof;  neither  did  he  desire  tod,,  a 
torture  to  him  !<•  see  Violet  ill-treated  ;  he  could 
it — nor  could  he  interfere  to  prevent  it. 

Moreover,  he  believed  it  to  be  quite  impossible  t 
the  frocoa  Sir  Owen  could  continue  his  bus;  ii"ns 

with'  himself  and  his  father ;  a  man  might   I  luch, 

but  knocking  a   person  down   was  a  serioi 
when    the  sunshine  came  peeping  into  hi 
quite   made   up   his  mind   that  that  would  be  h 

at  the  Hall. 

His  ideas  were  confirmed  when  a  servant,  I 


222  WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN. 

door,  said  that  Sir  Owen  would  be  glad  to  see  Mr.  Lonsdale 
in  his  own  room.  That,  he  believed,  was  the  prelude  to  his 
dismissal. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Felix  to  himself ;  "if  I  were  placed 
in  such  circumstances  again  I  should  do  just  the  same,  and 
perhaps  more. " 

He  went  immediately  to  the  baronet's  room.  As  he 
passed  from  one  room  to  another  he  could  not  help  admir- 
ing the  magnificence  and  luxury  of  the  house ;  it  was 
simply  superb,  and  the  morning  sun  shining  through  the 
windows,  made  it  more  beautiful  still.  He  little  guessed 
what  that  same  sun  would  see  before  it  set. 

He  entered  Sir  Owen's  room  quite  anticipating,  and  in- 
deed half  hoping  for  his  dismissal,  but  his  heart  was 
touched  when  he  saw  the  trembling  figure  before  him.  Sir 
Owen,  flushed  and  excited  with  drink,  was  bad  enough ;  Sir 
Owen,  in  the  morning  light,  trembling,  weak,  and  haggard, 
was  worse.  Felix  quietly  awaited  the  beginning  of  the 
storm,  but,  to  his  surprise,  Sir  Owen  held  out  his  hand. 
The  young  lawyer  would  not  see  it ;  he  felt  that  he  could 
never  touch  a  hand  that  had  been  raised  against  a  woman. 

"  I  am  really  very  sorry,  Lonsdale,"  Sir  Owen  began.  "  I 
am  afraid  I  was  too  much  excited  over  the  tenants'  dinner, 
and  forgot  myself.  I  am  very  sorry.  I  hope  that  I  was  not 
offensive  to  you  ?" 

"  He  has  forgotten  what  happened,"  thought  Felix  to  him- 
self. "  I  must  tell  him." 

"You  were  not  offensive  to  me,  Sir  Owen,"  he  said,  "but 
you  behaved  with  the  greatest  brutality  to  Lady  Chevenix. 
You  struck  her  with  such  violence  that  I  was  compelled  to 
interfere. " 

There  was  something  ruefully  comic  about  the  baronet's 
face. 

"I  ought  to  be  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure,"  he  said. 
"  I  love  my  wife  very  much,  and  cannot  understand  how 
I  could  have  so  forgotten  myself.  But  I  am  very  unfortu- 
nate when  I  exceed  my  usual  allowance  of  wine,  Lonsdale. 
You  will  shake  hands  and  be  friends  ?" 

"  I  am  willing  to  forget  my  share  in  the  business,  Sir 
Owen.  But  excuse  my  shaking  hands  with  you." 

The  baronet  laughed  uneasily. 

"  You  are  very  particular, "  he  said,  and  then  turned  the 
conversation. 

Felix,  despite  his  disgust,  felt  a  great  pity  for  him ;  it 
was  not  lessened  when  he  saw  his  valet  come  to  him  with  a 
bottle  and  a  glass. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  223 

"Take  less  of  that,  Sir  Owen,"  he  said,  "or  you  will  kill 
yourself." 

"Well,  I  have  to  die,  and  I  may  just  as  well  die  taking 
what  I  like  as  taking  medicine.  Some  men  have  m 

live  for  than  I  have.  lam  very  fond  of  my  wit'.-,  hut  she 
does  not  care  much  about  me,  and  I  have  no  child.  I  really 
believe,  Lonsdale,  that  I  should  be  quite  a  different  man  if  1 
had  a  child/' 

"  You  have  plenty  to  live  for,  Sir  Owen.  You  have  your 
duty  to  do  on  earth,  yet  more,  you  must  think  of  a  future 
life,"  sa.id  Felix. 

"  I  can  pay  other  men  to  do  my  duty,  and,  as  to  a  future 
life — well,  I  have  not  been  able  to  decide  about  that  \ 

"It  is  high  time  you  did  so,"  said  Felix,  gravely,  and  Sir 
Owen  laughed. 

"I  have  no  thought  of  dying  yet,  Lonsdale;  indeed.  I 
dare  not  die  if  all  that  the  parsons  say  is  true.  I.-  I  us  talk 
about  something  more  sensible.  Are  you  going  to  work 
again  to-day  .'" 

"The  work  has  to  be  done,  and  I  suppose  I  must  do  it. 
The  leases  have  to  be  signed  this  morning/' 

"I  will  sign  them  before  I  go,"  said  Sir  O\ven.  "Tain 
going  out  this  morning,  because  I  do  not  feel  like  myself. 
I  am  out  of  spirits;  a  cloud  is  hanging  over  me.  I  shall 
have  a  good  gallop,  and  see  if  I  cannot  el  •  tho 

heavi' 

Felix  went  to  his  work,  which  on  this  morning  was  in 
the  library,  and  before  he  had  been  there  vL.ry  lung  I^idy 
Chevenix  entered. 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  were  be:  ud.     "Slmll  I 

be  in  the  way  '.     I  have  some  letters  to  write." 

Ee  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  then  looked  at  her 
Across  the  soft  cheek  was  the  mark  of  a  violent  hlo\v. 

"It  is  not  very  painful/'  she  said. 

Presently   Sir  Owen  came   in  to    si.ni 
seemed  verv  much  ashamed  of  himself   when   lie 
bruise  on  his  wife's  face.     II"  l"<>k  her  to  the - 
window,  and  they  stood  there  for  some  time    talk 
Laxly  Chevenix  came  back  t«>  her  place,  and  Sir  Owen 
out  of  the  room. 

Violet  and  Felix  went  on  writing  in   silen<  tbCTt 

came  a  tap  at  the  door.  Sir  Owen's  groom  wanted  to  know 
if  he  mi  /hi  speak  to  her  ladyship  fora  few  inin'r 

Lady  '( 'hevenix  bade  him  come  in.    Tin-  man  stood  bet 
her,  cap  in  hand. 

"My  lady,"  he  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon;  I  must  make 


224  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

bold  enough  to  ask  you  to  interfere.  Sir  Owen  he  will  go 
out  riding  this  morning.  That  is  all  good  and  fair,  my 
lady,  but  he  will  ride  the  new  hunter  Plantagenet,  and  he 
is  no  more  fit  for  it  than  a  child. " 

"You  had  better  tell  him  so,  Martin,"  returned  Lady 
Chevenix. 

"  My  lady,  I  have  told  him,  over  and  over  again.  The 
more  I  tell  him  the  more  he  will  go." 

Lady  Chevenix  looked  helplessly  at  Felix. 

"Mr.  Lonsdale,"  she  said,  "will  you  go  and  try  to  per- 
suade Sir  Owen  not  to  ride  that  horse  ?  It  is  a  highly  met- 
tled animal,  and  he  has  never  ridden  it  yet. " 

Martin  touched  his  forehead  to  Felix. 

"  If  you  could  persuade  the  master  to  stay  at  home  this 
morning,  you  would  do  him  a  service,  sir,"  he  said.  "In- 
deed, my  lady,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Lady  Chevenix, 
"  Sir  Owen  could  hardly  manage  Bonnie  Bess  this  morning, 
his  hands  are  so  shaky. " 

"  Thank  you,  Martin, "  she  responded ;  "  it  was  very 
thoughtful  of  you  to  come  to  me.  Mr.  Lonsdale  will  follow 
you. " 

When  the  groom  had  retired  she  went  up  to  Felix  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"I  know  that  you  will  do  your  best  for  me, "  she  said, 
pleadingly. 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  I  will, "  returned  Felix,  and  then 
he  went  away. 

He  might  as  well  have  appealed  to  a  rock.  All  that  he 
said,  Sir  Owen  laughed  to  scorn. 

"  Something  happen  to  me  ?"  he  cried.  "  Yes,  I  know 
what  it  will  be.  I  shall  come  home  cured  of  the  '  blues. '  I 
am  going  to  gallop  dull  care  away,  and  Plantagenet  shall 
help  me." 

Felix  looked  attentively  at  the  horse. 

"  I  was  never  afraid  of  a  horse  yet,"  he  said,  "  but  I  would 
not  ride  that  one. " 

Lady  Chevenix,  finding  that  Felix  did  not  return,  came 
to  see  how  matters  were  progressing.  She  gave  a  little  cry 
of  alarm  when  she  saw  the  great  powerful  hunter,  and  her 
husband  preparing  to  mount  him. 

"Owen,"  she  cried,  "my  dear,  do  not  attemp1"  it.  Pray, 
pray  do  not. " 

He  felt  rather  flattered  by  her  evident  anxiety,  and 
ouched  her  face  with  hi«  lips. 

"Good-by.  Violet.     Do   not  make  a  scene.     I  have  said 


WEAKER  THAN  A  TF0AT.-1.V.  225 

that  I  will  ride  Plantagenet,  and  I  mean  to  do  so ;  nothing 
on  earth  shall  prevent  me." 

She  cried  aloud  in  her  distress.     Felix  interpos 

"  I  should  enjoy  a  gallop  this  fine  morning,  Sir  Owen,"  he 
said.  "  Shall  I  go  with  you  ?" 

"As  my  head-nurse,  eh,  Lonedale?  No,  thank  you.  I 
can  take  care  of  myself  very  well,  inde-  L" 

For  more  than  half  an  hour  the  t)-  <>c — r.ia  true  friend, 
the  anxious  wife,  and  the  faithful  ser  -ant— reasoned  in 
vain.  They  could  never  reproach  themselves  in  after  days 
that  they  had  not  done  their  best,  but  their  words  wnv  as 
vain  as  the  beating  of  tiny  wavelets  against  a  sturdy  n>rk. 
Sir  Owen  would  ride  Plantagenet,  and  there  was  an  end  of 
it.  The  only  compromise  that  Lady  Chevenix  could  • 
was  that  he  should  take  the  groom  with  him. 

"If  it  will  please  you,  Violet,"  he  said,  "I  will  do  so."  He 
thought  himself  very  good-natured  in  giving  way  so  far. 

She  liked  to  remember  afterward  that  she  went  up  to  him 
and  said  : 

"Owen,  I  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  if  you 
would  give  up  this  mad  idea— anything !  Do  please  me 
this  once." 

He  kissed  her,  and  then  got  into  the  saddle. 

"I  shall  be  back  to  dinner  all  right,"  he  told  her.   "  I 
be  rather  late,  for  I  shall  ride  around  by  Park.-rh 

"Martin,"' said  Lady  Chevenix  to  the  groom,  "do  not 
leave  your  master  for  one  moment.  Do  what  yon  can." 

"I  will,  my  lady,"  he  replied,  "but  I  misdoubt  me  it  will 
end  badly." 

With  a  heavy  heart  Lady  Chevenix  re-entered  the  1, 
and  Felix  went  back  co  his  writing.     Violet  retired   t"   IHT 
own  room,  to  while  the  time  away  with  a  hook. 

The  sunny  hours  of  the  beautiful  day  wore  on  • 
came  over  the  smiling  heavens  ;  yet  th.-n-  was  a   faint    wail 
in  the  summer  wind  wlii.-li  t<>  the  weather -\vis-    heralded   »i 
storm.     The  shadows  lengthened,  and   r-YIix  had  not  left 
th<-  library;  he  had  partaken  9!  a   bi^-mt  and 
sherry  there,  as  he  was  anxious  to  gi-t  his   work  done. 
hud  completely  finished  by  six  o'clock,  and  on 
search    of    Sir  Owen  was  told  that  he  had  not  yet 
Lady  Chevenix  was  in  her  room.    He  would  have  been  gl« 
if  he  could  have  gone  home  then;  he  did   not    • 
main  for  the  long  formal  dinner  and  the   long  forma 
ing.     Still  he  was  unwilling  to  leave  Lady  Chevmx   ant 
her  husband  returned. 

The  first  bell  rang,  and  he  went  to  his  room.  en, 


226  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

he  was  told,  had  not  returned,  and  her  ladyship  seemed 
anxious  about  him.  After  a  little  while  Felix  went  into  the 
drawing-room,  where  Lady  Chevenix  sat,  dressed  for  din- 
ner, looking  superbly  beautiful  in  a  dinner  dress  of  blue 
velvet  and  a  suite  of  pearls.  She  turned  to  him  anxiously. 

"Sir  Owen  has  not  returned,"  she  said.  "I  have  told 
them  to  keep  back  the  dinner  until  he  conies. " 

He  saw  that  she  was  terribly  anxious,  and  did  his  best  to 
cheer  her.  He  went  to  the  balcony,  where  roses  and  jessa- 
mine grew  in  wild  profusion. 

"Come  and  look  at  these  flowers,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he 
said.  "  I  read  a  beautiful  legend  about  the  jessamine  the 
other  day."  And  while  she  stood  by  his  side  he  related  it 
to  her. 

The  anxious  look  fell  from  her  face,  and  her  eyes  lost 
their  strained,  intent  expression.  He  thought,  if  he  could 
keep  her  r  ttention  engaged  until  Sir  Owen  returned,  how 
well  it  would  be — how  much  pain  it  would  spare  her.  She 
turned  to  him  suddenly : 

"  Do  you  think  anything  can  have  happened  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Ought  I  to  send  servants  out  to  look  for  Sir  Owen  ?" 

"  Martin  is  with  him, '  said  Felix. 

He  left  her  for  a  few  minutes,  under  the  pretext  of  find- 
ing something  fchat  he  had  missed.  In  reality  he  gave  direc- 
tions for  four  of  the  men-servants  to  Amount  at  once,  and 
ride  off  in  search  of  their  master,  and  then  he  returned  to 
Lady  Chevenix. 

"I  am  growing  terribly  frightened,  Felix,"  she  said. 

In  this  hour  of  supreme  anxiety  all  barriers  seemed  to 
have  fallen  between  them.  She  forgot  that  he  was  the  man 
she  had  forsaken  and  deceived.  She  thought  of  him  only 
as  one  in  whom  she  put  infinite  trust — in  whom  she  had  in- 
finite faith.  He  was  once  more  the  Felix  on  whom  she  had 
relied  from  her  childhood  upward. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  need  be  alarmed,  Lady  Chevenix, 
and  for  this  reason — Martin  is  with  him.  If  anything  had 
happened  to  Sir  Owen  the  groom  would  have  hastened 
back  ;  of  that  you  may  be  quite  sure." 

The  thought  was  reassuring,  and  Lady  Chevenix  was  re- 
lieved. 


ti  THAN  A  WOMAN.  227 


CHAPTER  XLL 
"WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN." 

Seven  o'clock  struck,  and  then  half-past,  and  Felix  per- 
suaded Lady  Chevenix  to  take  some  dinner.     If  anything 
had  happened,  bethought  to  himself,  she   would  be  ; 
able  to  meet  it  after  dining.     She    \\as   very  unwill  • 
first,  but  after  a  time  she  consented,  and  dim 

"I  know   what  I  think   myself,"  said  Felix,     "g 
has  called  in  somewhere,  and   they  have  persuaded  him    to 
stav.     Try  to  imagine  that ;  it  seems  to  me  not   unr. 
able." 

They  sat  alone  at  the  stately  dining-table,  when 
ver  plate  and  the  richly  cut  glass  I.^.krd    so   brillian; 
table    where   Lady  Chevenix    had    uud<  i  >:iany   hu- 

miliations.    It  was  but  a  farce  ;  neither  of  them  eoiil'i 

Eight  o'clock  chimed,  and  no  other  sound  broke  the  sum- 
mer silence. 

"I  cannot  sit  here  any  longer  doing  nothing,"  said  Lady 
Chevenix.  " I  am  quite  sure  now  that  something  has  hap- 
pened ;  I  must  send  out  a  few  of  the  sen  an 

"I  have  done  that,"  Felix  told  her.     "All  that  is  pu- 
nas been  done  ;  they  will  return  together  90 

His  words   were  prophetically  true.     Kveu   as   bespoke 
they  heard  a  confused  noise  at  the  grand  entrance-hall 
the  rush  of  many  feet,  the  cries  of   women,  and   the 
voices  of  men. 

Felix  never  forgot  Violet.     She  arose  from  her  seat,  and 
stood  hesitating  for  one  moment  pale  as  death.     Then  sin- 
turned  to  the  door.     But  Felix  was  before  hi-r.    That  whld 
was  happening  in  the  hall  was  most  assuredly  something 
which  she  must  not  see. 

"Sit  down.  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  said.     "You  mu 
out  there.     Let  me  see  what  is  wrong." 

She  did  not  seem  to  understand  him,  but   he   j 
in  a  chair,  and  then  opened  the  door.     There  w., 
terrified  servants,  and  women's  voices  cried,  "Oh,  my  laoj 
— oh,  my  la-! 

He  held  up  his  hand  with  an  imperative  gesture. 

"You  will  kill  Lady  <  'hevemx.  be  said, '  with  ibw noise. 
Let  no  one  go  near  her. " 


228  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

He  took  one  step  forward,  and  at  once  saw  the  cause  of 
the  commotion.  A  crowd  of  men  stood  round  a  litter,  and 
on  the  litter  lay  Sir  Owen.  Felix  pushed  them  aside. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  he  asked,  and  the  answer  was,  "  No. " 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that !"  he  cried.  Then  he  uttered  a 
little  cry  of  dismay,  for  Lady  Chevenix  stood  by  his  side. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  she  said.     u  Tell  me  the  worst. " 

"  Sir  Owen  has  been  thrown  from  his  horse  ;  and  Martin 
says  the  horse  fell  on  him, "  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

And  then,  his  eyes  dim  with  tears,  his  whole  frame 
trembling  with  excitement,  Martin  forced  his  way  through 
the  group,  and  stood  before  Lady  Chevenix  and  Felix. 

"My  lady,"  he  said,  " I  wish  I  had  been  dead  before  this 
day  came  around.  You  sent  me  to  take  care  of  him,  and 
he  is  brought  home  so. " 

" Tell  Lady  Chevenix  how  it  happened,"  directed  Felix, 
hastily. 

"  Sir  Owen  rode  nearly  all  the  time,  my  lady,  and  I  rode 
by  his  side.  We  went  all  round  Lilford,  Harberly,  and 
Ripdale.  He  stopped  at  Ripdale,  and  took  some  refresh- 
ment. Then  he  came  home  by  the  woods,  and  the  horse 
was  all  right  until  Sir  Owen  came  to  the  ring  fence.  The 
church  clock  at  Lilford  had  chimed  half-past  seven.  He 
turned  to  me  and  said,  '  Martin,  I  shall  take  that  fence  in 
fine  style. '  I  begged  him  not ;  I  prayed  him  not.  I  told 
him  the  fence  was  too  high  for  any  horse,  even  the  best  in 
the  kingdom,  to  take.  But  he  would  not  listen — you  know, 
my  lady,  he  never  would  listen.  He  put  the  horse  at  the 
fence,  and  it  refused.  He  whipped  it  and  spurred  it  until 
my  blood  ran  cold,  and  then  he  put  it  at  the  fence  again. 
But  Plantagenet  would  not  take  it.  A  third  time  he  used 
the  whip  and  spur,  until  the  horse  went  almost  mad.  A 
third  time  he  went  at  the  fence.  The  horse  tried  his  best, 
but  his  fore-feet  caught  the  top,  and  he  fell  over,  master 
being  underneath  him,  my  lady.  When  I  went  to  raise 
him,  I  was  afraid  he  had  been  crushed  into  a  shapeless 
mass,  but  he  was  not,  nor  was  he  killed,  for  I  felt  his 
heart  beating.  I  had  a  flask  of  brandy  in  my  pocket,  and  I 
put  it  to  his  lips — he  could  not  swallow  it.  I  had  to  leave 
him  there  while  I  galloped  off  to  the  nearest  cottage  and 
gave  the  alarm.  Then  we  made  a  litter,  and  brought  him 
home." 

Felix  turned  to  him. 

"How  long  will  it  take  you,"  he  said,  "  to  ride  to  Lilford, 
and  bring  back  two  doctors  ?" 

"I  can  do  it  in  two  hours  and  a  half,"  replied  Martin, 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAX.  229 

"Go  at  once,"  said  Felix,  "and  lose  no  time.  You,  John, 
go  to  Ordstone  Station,  and  send  a  telegram  to  Sir  William 
Daly,  the  great  London  physician.  Tin-  address  is  Hyde 
Park  Gardens.  Say  what  has  happened,  and  ask  him  to 
come  at  once.  You,  Stephen,  go  for  Mrs.  Ha  •  the 

carriage,  so  that  she  can  return  at  once.     Horton,   il 
will  help  me,  we  will  carry  Sir  Owen  to  his  room." 

Felix  sent  for  Mrs.  Ward  ley,  the  housekeeper,  and  when 
she  appeared  he  begged  of  Lady  Chevenix  to  leave  them 
for  a  time.  She  was  very  unwilling  to  do  so. 

"I  ought  to  be  with  him,  Felix,"  she  said.  "I  ought, 
indeed." 

"  So  you  shall  be  when  I  think  it  is  right  to  send  for  y 
he  answered,  and  she  went  away. 

They  carried  the  baronet  into  a  spacious,  hands. 
furnished  bedroom.  The  curtains  were  drawn  and  the  i 
lighted.  They  laid  him  on  the  bed  of  down,  and  the  faithful 
servants  wept  over  him. 

"I  always  knew  that  it  would  be  so,"  said  Mrs.  War 
"I  have  always  expeeted  this  evil  day.     I  was  his  mo- 
nurse,  sir,"  she    added,  speaking   to   Felix,  "and    I    n 
him  until  he  was  three  years  old.     He  never  won  I 
never — and  it  has  come  at  last." 

The  men  took  off  his  clothes,  and  placed  him  betw.-en  the 
fine   linen    sheets.     Felix   examined    hi: 
could  discover  no  bruise,  no  wound.    But  for  the  pallor  of 
his  face  he  might  have  been  asleep. 

"Ibegin  to  hope,  Horton."  he  said  to   the   butl 
there  is  not  much  the  matter.     1  cannot   see  a  wound.     H< 
is  stunned  with  the  fall." 

But  Hort'.n  shook  his  white  head. 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,  that  it  is  more  than  that.     V. 
is  it  nov 

Felix  took  out  his  watch. 

"It  is  just  a  quarter  past  nine,"  he  replied. 

"It  w'ill  take  two  hours  and  a  half  to  bring 

;  that    will   ma        it  a  qu 
might  come  in,  sir.     There  is  nothing  to  frightei 

Then  Lady  Chevenix  did  come  in.    Felix  !••• 

Of"        ll  {  tf* 

"I  begin  to  have  every  hope,""1'   - 
much  the  matter,  I  think 
broken  limbs  nor  bruises.     1  am  of  opinion 
has  been  stunned  by  the  fall     We  will  bathe  his 
try  me  brandy  between  bia  lips.    I  do  not 

there  is  very  much  the  ma 


230  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Lady  Chevenix  went  up  to  her  husband,  and  knelt  down 
by  his  side.  She  had  never  -professed  any  love  for  him, 
but,  as  he  lay  there,  white,  silent,  and  helpless,  a  keen 
sense  of  pity  and  compassion  for  him  awoke  in  her  heart. 
She  took  his  hands  in  her  own,  and  rubbed  them. 

"Owen,"  she  said — umy  dear,  try  to  speak  to  me." 

They  brought  brandy ;  Felix  gave  it  to  him  himself  with 
a  spoon,  and  this  time  they  were  quite  sure  he  swallowed 
it.  Felix  looked  at  Violet. 

"He  has  swallowed  it,"  he  said  ;  "and  see — there  is  some 
color  coming  back  to  his  lips.  Lady  Chevenix,  speak  to  him 
again. " 

"Owen, "she  said — "my  dear,  can  you  speak  to  me?" 
And  this  time  there  was  no  mistake ;  one  of  his  eyelids 
moved,  and  his  lip?,  trembled  faintly. 

"  He  is  getting  better  !"  she  cried.  "  I  can  see  his  lips 
move  !" 

They  redoubled  their  efforts,  and  presently  the  pale  lips 
parted.  Felix  gave  him  a  little  more  brandy.  They  left 
nothing  undone  that  they  could  do,  the  four  who  stood  so 
anxiously  by  him — his  wife,  Felix,  the  butler,  and  Mrs. 
Wardley.  At  last  the  baronet  gave  a  deep  sigh  and  opened 
his  eyes.  His  wife  bent  over  ^im. 

"  Are  you  better,  Owen  ?"  she  asked,  gently. 

He  looked  up  at  her. 

u  Better  ?"  he  repeated.     "  I  am  all  right." 

"  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  I  had  a  nasty  fall.  I  remember  it  now,"  said  Sir  Owen. 
"  It  stunned  me.  I  do  not  remember  how  I  came  home 
though." 

They  told  him,  and  he  listened  attentively. 

" So  Plantagenet  f ell  on  me,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  that 
he  did  not  kill  me.  As  it  is,  I  am  not  hurt.  I  am  stunned 
— dazed  a  little.  Very  likely  I  fell  upon  my  head,  but  it  is 
wonderful  that  I  am  not  hurt." 

"  I  am  very  thankful, "  put  in  Lady  Chevenix.  "  It  might 
have  been  so  much  worse." 

"  Yes,  it  might.  I  own  now  that  my  conduct  was  very 
foolish.  Violet,  you  will  give  all  those  poor  fellows  who 
helped  to  bring  me  home  a  handsome  reward,  will  you  not  ? 
Lonsdale,  I  am  glad  that  you  are  with  me.  You  will  stay, 
will  you  not  ?"  I  shall  be  all  right  to-morrow. " 

They  asked  him  if  he  had  any  pain.  He  said  "No." 
There  was  a  strange  giddiness  in  his  head,  and  a  strange 
sensation  of  numbness  in  his  body,  but,  save  for  that,  he 
felt  all  right. 


WEAKER  77ALY  A  WOMAX.  231 

The  old  butler,  when  he  heard  that,  turned  and  quitted 
the  room.     He  felt  sure  as  to  what  \vas  <-,  uning. 

Sir  Owen  lay  perfectly  still.     The  lain;  ']  lighted. 

and  their  clear,  brilliant   li^ht   fell   on   the 
face   of   Felix   Lonsdale,  and   on   the   tnmb;. 
Owen's  wife. 

"How   bright  and  pleasant  everything  said  the 

baronet      "  How  .strange  it  seems  to  be  lyin-  here  !     I  shall 
get  up  to-morr  w."     Yet,  when  he  tried 
a  sense  of  h'.'lplt-^n.^s  that  he  could  not  understand.   "  It  is 
strange,"  he  said  to  Felix,  "that  I  have  neither    woin 
bruise.     I  was  quite  stunned,  but  that   is  all.     This   numb- 
away  with  a  few  hours'  n-st.     I   a 
you  are  here.  Lonsdale.     Yon   will   not    leave    m 
will  you  {    I  feel  strangely  wakeful,  and  it  is  dreadful  to  lie 
awake  through  tne  lon^  hours  of  night." 

"Of  course  I  will  stay,''  he  replied,  "and^ady  Che\ 
too." 

"How  strange  it   was,  Lonsdale,  that  you  and  I    should 
have  been  talking  abo  t  death  this  morning  !    It  must  have 
been  a  foreboding  of    nis  accident.    I  have  had  a  wom, 
escape.     I  shall    never  forget    it.      I    cannot  think   how    it 
was  that  brute  did  not  kill  me.      Violet,  come  nearer  t 
and  let  me  hold  your  hand.     What  a  strange  sensation  it  is 
to  be  frightened  at  nothing,  as  I  am." 

She  came  nearer  to  him.  and  took  his  hands  in  hers;  he 
looked  at  her. 

"I  have  had  a  narrow  escape,"  he  said  again,  with  a  shud- 
dering cry — "a  narrow  escape.    Violet,  this  will  do  wh 
lecturing  and  no  sermon  could  do.     It  will   make  me 
ter  man.     I  will  be  a  better  man.  my  dear — I   will,  ii:< 
I  will  give  up  brandy,  and  I  will  be  kind  ;  :    I    will. 

Violet.     I  will  look  after  things  better  tl 
will  help  the  poor,  and  go  to  church.'' 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  and  then  h«-  started  suddenly. 

"I  was    asleep,"  he    said  -  --"  a-Jecp    and    dp-ami: 
Strange  !     I  shall  be   better  to-morrow.      I  wish  tl. 
of  numbness  would  go.      It  is  nothing,  but  it  is  unco.: 
able— I  cannot  stir.      I  shall  be  a  better  man  after 
let.      We  shall  be  happier  than  we  have 
wish  to-morrow    were    com--,  that    '.   mi-lit    iM    \\\ 
you  need  not  send  for  any  doct< 
My  head  is  dizzy;  it  will  SOOn  be  all  right." 

"They  sent  for  doctors  as  soon  as  you 
home,"  rem;irk"d  Lady  ( 1hevenix. 

"  They  need  not  see  me  if  they  come."  he  said.    '4  You  can 


232  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

tell  them  I  have  no  pain,  no  wound,  no  bruise.  I  do  not  like 
doctors,  and  I  shall  be  all  right  to-morrow." 

Ten  o'clock  and  eleven  o'clock  struck.  He  talked  to 
them  the  whole  time ;  but  at  eleven  he  complained  more  of 
the  terrible  numbness  and  the  inability  to  move. 

"  I  lie  here  like  a  log,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  glad  when  to- 
morrow comes."  He  looked  haggard  and  restless  as  the 
time  wore  on.  "I  will  not  ask  for  brandy,"  he  remarked, 
"  though  I  should  like  some  ;  but  I  mean  to  give  it  up — I 
do,  indeed.  You  will  see,  Violet,  how  happy  we  shall  be 
when  I  am  well." 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  doctors  came — Doctor 
Brown,  the  old  established  practitioner,  and  Doctor  Brene, 
the  clever  young  physician  from  London,  who  had  bought 
a  practice  in  Lilford.  They  looked  in  wonder  at  the  scene 
— the  superb  room,  the  pale,  lovely  woman  in  her  dress  of 
blue  velvet  and  pearls,  the  man  lying  on  the  bed. 

Felix  explained  rapidly  what  had  happened. 

"I  am  all  right,"  said  Sir  Owen.  "They  need  not  have 
troubled  you,  gentlemen.  I  have  no  pain,  no  bruise,  no 
wound.  The  fall  stunned  me — that  is  all. " 

The  doctors  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  asked  Lady 
Chevenix  if  she  would  leave  them  with  her  husband. 

"There  is  no  need,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "Lonsdale, 
never  mind  what  they  say ;  do  not  go. " 

"  I  will  not  be  long  away, "  replied  Felix. 

He  did  not  like  the  look  that  had  passed  between  the  doc- 
tors ;  it  was  not  a  hopeful  one.  He  touched  Lady  Chevenix 
gently  on  the  arm. 

"Let  us  retire  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  and,  kissing 
her  husband's  face,  Violet  rose  and  quitted  the  room. 

They  did  not  go  far.  Through  the  oriel  window  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor  the  summer  moon  was  shining,  and 
they  both  walked  thither.  She  looked  up  at  Felix,  and  he 
saw  that  she  trembled. 

ul  am  frightened,"  she  said.     "It  seems  so  strange." 

In  perfect  silence  they  stood  at  the  window,  watching 
the  moonlight  on  the  gardens.  They  had  been  there  quite 
twenty  minutes  when  the  door  of  Sir  Owen's  room  was 
slowly  opened,  and  Doctor  Brene  came  to  them. 

"I  have  bad  news  for  you,"  he  said,  in  his  grave,  full 
voice.  "  Lady  Chevenix,  you  must  be  brave.  I  have  very 
bad  news." 

She  could  grow  no  paler.  She  stood  white,  calm,  and 
self-possessed  before  him,  but  her  heart  was  beating  pain- 
fully, and  every  nerve  was  strained  to  the  utmost. 


WEAKER  THAX  A   WO  MAX.  233 

"You  must  promise  to  !isten  quietly  to  what  I  ha- 
say.  Tell  me  first  whether  Sir  Owen  has  any  worldly  affairs 
to  settle." 

Lady  Chevenix  looked  at  Felix,  as  though  she  hardly 
understood. 

uHe  cannot  have  much  to  do,"  he  said.     "His  will  was 
made  and  signed  some  mon; 

She  seemed  to  understand  neither  question  nor  an.- 
She  looked  at  the  doctor. 

"What  is  it f   she  asked.     "I  do  not  understand.     Tell 
me  about  my  husband.  *' 

"He  is  very  ill.  Lady  Chevenix — very  ill.  in 

"But,"  she  cried,  "he  has  no  pain — lie  has  n<»  wound  !" 

"So  much  the  worse.     Any  pain   would   !>••  than 

none.     The   truth   is — no\v   promise   me  to  be  ealin. 
Chevenix — the  truth  is  that  Sir  Owen  has  injured 
and  that  there  is  no  chance  for  his  life.  ' 

She  trembled   so  much  that  the  doctor  Brought  a  < 
and  placed  her  in  it.    He  asked  Fjlix  to  § 

"Try,"  he  said,  "to  bear  up  for  ..  few   hour        \ 
band  cannot  live  louder,  ami  you  must  be  with   him. 
must  comfort  him  to  the  last.'    Try  to  bear  up." 

" I  will,"  she  replied     " My  pour  Owen  !    And  ho  do* 
know  r 

>.  He  knows  nothing  of  it  yet,"  he  an  w. 
this  vdne,  and  come  back  to  him.     It  is  midi. 
he  cannot  live  until  sum-is. 
you  must  tell  him,  if  you  can,  that  h<-  b 

" I  cannot,"  she  said.     "I  know  it  is  ir.y  pi 
—but   I  cannot  do  it.     Ins  me  things  I  am  .i.-in  a 

woman  ;  this  is  one  of  them.'' 

"Then  I  must  tell  him  myself,"  return.-]    I 
he  moved  away  slowly,  "but  that  is  not  as  it  should  I 

•  •lix,"  she'  said,  "i  IK. 

know  nothing  of  death.     I  am  t-rntied  at  the  thought  < 
Do  help  me." 

"i  will,"  he  answered— "ail-that  I  • 

They  went  back  to  the  room,  and   Sir  Owen  lool 

t ll  f * V  ( *  II t ti 1*6 (1 

"'Why  did  you  M  mo  be  tortured  with  doet 
"Iwaa  getti  er  quickly,  and   th.-y   < 

me    with  their    : 
thev  say  that  I  am  ^'in-  to  di«- :  ' 

He  uttered  tb-  last  word  wit! 

"It  is  all  i.  itinued. 

with   the   fall— that   is   all;    it   is   not!. 


234  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

more,  I  assure  you.  Lonsdale,  send  for  your  father.  I 
want  to  see  him ;  he  has  always  been  kind  to  me,  in  his 
way.  He  will  see  at  once  there  is  nothing  the  matter ;  send 
for  him." 

Felix  left  the  room  at  once,  and  sent  Martin  off  for  his 
father.  He  asked  if  the  carriage  had  returned  with  Mrs. 
Haye,  and  was  told  that  it  had  not.  He  went  back  to  the 
room,  and  found  Violet  kneeling  by  her  husband's  side. 
Her  head,  with  the  golden  hair  all  unfastened,  was  on  the 
pillow,  and  she  was  trying  to  reason  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THIETY  THOUSAND  A  YEAR. 

At  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  Darcy  Lonsdale  reached 
Garswood.  He  had  no  words  in  which  to  express  his  sur- 
prise and  dismay  on  hearing  of  Sir  Owen's  accident.  He 
had  returned  home  on  the  previous  evening  from  London, 
and  a  few  hours  afterward  received  the  summons  to  Gars- 
wood.  He  went  direct  to  Sir  Owen's  room,  and  was  startled 
by  the  loud  cry  with  which  the  dying  man  received  him. 

"Come  here,  Darcy,"  said  Sir  Owen.  "You  have  more 
sense  than  all  the  doctors  put  together.  Do  I  look  like  a 
dying  man  ?" 

"You  look  better  than  I  expected  to  find  you,"  answered 
Mr.  Lonsdale. 

"  Yet  they  say  I  am  dying.  They  say  my  spine  is  injured. 
I  am  talking  to  you  now,  yet  they  say  when  the  sun  rises  I 
shall  be  dead.  It  is  absurd — say  it  is  absurd,  Lonsdale. " 

Mr.  Lonsdale  looked  down  with  infinite  pity  on  the  face- 
that  was  almost  convulsed  with  terror. 

"  I  am  afraid, "  he  said,  "  that  you  have  heard  the  truth. 
It  would  be  cruel  to  give  you  one  false  hope.  It  is  time  foi 
you  to  make  your  peace  with  Heaven." 

Sir  Owen  turned  his  agonized  face  to  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  Violet,,  they  are  all  against  me,  my  dear,  but  you. 
You  do  not  believe  it,  do  you  ?  You  are  kinder,  and  you 
care  more  for  me.  What  is  my  life  to  them  ?  Tell  me— do 
you  believe  that  I  am  going  to  die  i1" 

She  whispered  her  answer.  No  one  heard  it  but  himself, 
and  with  a  wild  cry  he  turned  away  his  face. 

"  They  are  all  alike.  They  want  me  to  die.  They  will  not 
let  me  live."  he  exclaimed. 

Doctor  Brown  stopped  his  wild  raving  by  telling  him 
that  the  quieter  he  was  the  longer  he  would  live.  The 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  235 

presence  of  the  two  doctors,  however,  irritated  Sir  Owen 
so  greatly   that   they   were  compelled  to   go   down- 
Felix  followed  them.     The  night  had  grown  cold  and  chill. 
A  storm   was   brewing;  the,    wind    was    wailing  round  \\w 
house,  bending  the  tall  trees,  and  robbing  them  of  lea 

The  servants  were  all  up,  and  a  fire  had  been  lighted  in 
the  library.  Felix  ordered  hot  coffee,  and  sent  SOUK  to  his 
father  and  Lady  (  iievenix. 

"This  is  a  terrbile  state  of' things,"  said  one  doctor  to  the 
other.  "There  seems  to  be  no  sense  of  what  should  he 
done.  We  ought  to  send  for  the  vicar." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  better,"  agreed  the  other.  "It  would 
save  appearances.  But  I  am  no  believer  myself  in  death- 
bed conversions." 

"You    forget,"  rejoined    his  friend,  "  that  mercy    in 
extended  even  at  the  last  moment." 

"  No  ;   I  do  not  forget  that.     But  I  think  the  best  pn-; 
tion  for  death  is  a  good  life.    I  would  not  chan 
with  Sir  Owen." 

Felix  sent  at  once  for  the  Vicar  of  Lilford,  and  tin 
turned  to  the  baronet's  room,  leaving  the  doctors  together. 

Sir  Owen  had  grown  very  quiet  now.  He  lay  with  Vio- 
let's hands  clasped  r  his,  as  though,  clin._  r.  he 
could  not  die.  Darey  Lcnsdale  sat  at  the  other  side,  his 
kind,  sensible  face  full  of  compassion.  He  had  seen  nothing 
in  all  his  life  that  affected  him  as  this  death -l."d  scene  did. 

The  dying  man  looked  upas  Felix  entered  the  room,  and, 
taking  one  hand  from  Viol 't,  held  it  out  to  him. 

"I  am  no  worse,"  he  said,  but  the  voice  wa 
faint.     "' Have  you  sent  the  doctors  hoi: 

Felix   bent  over   him  without  replying,  and   t 
such  kindly  sorrow  and  anxiety  in  his  face  that  Sir  i 
said  : 

"  You  are  a  good  friend— what  I  call  a  true  fr; 
dealing  with  you  was  not  fair  as  regards  Violet  I. 
you  forgive  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Felix,  "I  forgive  you." 

"Now  look  at  me,"  whispered  the  taint    VO\ 
at  me.     I  feel  weak,  but  tint  is  through  lying  br- 
and  being  frightened.     Tell   me,  do   1   seem  like  a  dying 
man?" 

With  a  woman's  weakness   Felix  bent  1< 
face  that  a  few  hours  since  had  seemed  to  him   repute] 
so  that  Sir  Owen  should  not  see  the  tears   which  idled  bos 
eyes. 


236  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  he  said.  "I  dare  not  say 
'No.'  " 

The  baronet  groaned ;  and  shortly  afterward  Mrs.  Have 
arrived  from  Lilford.  Lady  Chevenix  never  moved  ;  she 
still  knelt  by  her  husband's  side,  and  Darcy  Lonsdale  kept 
his  station  opposite.  Sir  Owen  smiled  when  Mrs.  Have 
came  in — he  had  always  liked  her. 

"  Did  they  send  for  you  also  ?"  he  said.  "  What  folly !  You 
must  not  believe  one  word  they  say. " 

The  darkness  of  the  night  passed — there  was  a  faint 
gleam  of  early  dawn  in  the  eastern  sky.  The  dying  man's 
quick  ears  detected  the  first  notes  of  the  birds. 

"  Hush  !  Hark  !"  he  cried.  "  The  birds  are  chirping  ! 
Now  who  is  right/?  They  said  that  I  should  be  dead  before 
the  dawn  !  Draw  those  hangings,  Violet,  and  put  out  the 
lamps.  It  is  dawn  now ;  I  see  the  red  light  in  the  sky.  I 
am  right,  and  the  doctors  are  wrong. " 

They  drew  the  hangings  and  put  out  the  lamps,  and  the 
dawn  came  flushing  into  the  room.  The  great  window 
faced  the  east,  so  that  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  shone  di- 
rectly into  the  room.  How  gray  and  haggard  Sir  Owen's 
face  looked  as  those  beams  touched  it ! 

Darcy  Lonsdale  discerned  what  Violet  could  not — the 
speedy  coming  of  death.  He  knelt  down  by  the  dying 
man's  side,  and  he  spoke  to  him  as  no  one  would  have 
thought  he  could  speak.  He  dwelt  so  much  upon  the 
mercy  of  Heaven  and  the  goodness  of  God  that  Sir  Owen's 
pale  lips  trembled. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  that  I  had  thought  of  all  that  before. 
It  is  too  late  now — much  too  late." 

The  vicar  came,  but  \»hen  he  stood  by  the  baronet's 
death-bed  it  was  perceptible  to  all  that  Sir  Owen  neither 
heard  nor  understood.  He  roused  himself  soon  afterward, 
however. 

"I  feel  very  ill,  Violet,"  he  said — " very  ill,  indeed.  I 
have  no  strength ;  I  cannot  move.  Can  it  be  true  what 
they  said  ?  Call  the  doctors  back,  and  tell  them  they  must 
do  something  for  me. " 

They  were  brought  back,  and  such  an  hour  passed  then 
as  they  hoped  never  to  see  again.  Sir  Owen's  terrible  cries, 
his  screams  of  fear — for  he  was  afraid  to  die — horribly 
afraid  of  the  unknown  future — distressed  them.  It  was 
such  a  scene  that  those  present  were  long  in  forgetting  it. 
Then,  when  the  bright  sun  came  forth  in  his  splendor,  and 
the  birds  chirped  loudly,  the  baronet  turned  his  face  to  his 
wife,  sighed  softly,  and  his  spirit  fled. 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAX  237 

He  had  been  dead  some  minutes  before  the  doctors  found 
it  out,  and  the  same  sunbeams  gilded  the  dead  face  of  tho 
husband  and  the  white  beautiful  living  face  of  the  wife. 

They  carried  her  away,  for  the  horror  of  the  scene  ].: 
too   much  for  her.     Sin     was  so   ovt  rwnelmed  . 
alarm  among  those  ^ho  loved  her.     It  was  bright  morning 
then.     The  doctors  took  some  breakfast,  and  each    went  of): 
to  his  duties.     Lady  Chevenix  lay  in  her  room,  with    Mrs. 
keeping  anxious  watch  by  her.     Felix    went    ] 
Darcy  Lonsdale  remained,  to  take  charge  of  e 
thing. 

The   gloom   of   the  next  few   days   was  great.     Into  the 
darkened  house  there  came  no  sunlight.    1'eople  1 
and  coming,  all  intent  on   the  same  melancholy  busu. 

:  rations  for  the  funeral.     Dull  gloomy  days  they  werp 
into  which  came  no  gleam  of  hope. 

Sir  Owen's  death  caused  great  dismay;  still  no 

much    surprised   at  hi:'  untimely  end  ;  and,  curiously 
enough,  the  suddenness  of  it  excited  great  pity.  People  who 
had  spoken  unkindly  of    him,  and  condemned  his   Eaul 
most  vigorously,  now  grieved  most  for  him. 
errors  seemed  to  be  covered  by  the  great  dark,  thick 
of  death. 

The   day  of  his  funeral  came,  and  half  the  county  : 
tended.  Sir  Owen  was  buried  in  the  church-yard 
where  the  oak  trees  seemed  to  murmur  among   then 
that  they  had  foreseen  what  would  happen,  in  tin 
davs   when   he  walked  under  the  sp  read  ing  shade  c 


xneu    cum,    ua6   reading  of  the  will      The    a« 
trustees  assembled   in  the  library,  and  Lad>  (  . 

her    widow's    dress,  entered    BOOH    after 

bv   Mrs.  Have.     There   was   some   little  commot 

enta  toe  gentieinan  brought  a  chair,  another  a  to 

stool.   She  looked  so  delicately  lovely  in  her  widow's 

her  gulden  hair  half  hidden  by  a  p<  ':  < »« 

heavV  folds  of  rich  crape  sweeping  the  ground,  ^ 

Arlington   hastened    to    ffi  ;l   ."  s    J 

words"  took   his   station  by  her  side 

that    he    and    Captain    Hill    were    the  two  e: 

will.     Hespob  Bwwords  to  normal 

then  both  composed  t!  ••  , 

Itwasagoodandjus  dde.^tly  the 

thoughtful   mind.     Mr.  "    ';"!-  »»   <;l."  ; 

almost  every  clause  in  it.  '-V'"!'  '  ', 

had  a  handsome  legacy;  the  u   . 


238  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

friends — every  one  was  remembered.  The  bulk  of  his  for- 
tune, with  Garswood,  was  left  to  his  "  dearly  beloved  wife. " 
There  was  a  very  handsome  bequest  to  Francis  Haye,  and 
one  to  the  vicar ;  there  was  a  large  sum  left  to  each  charity 
in  the  neighborhood. 

There  was  a  murrrur  when  the  reading  ceased.  Every 
one  was  pleased.  Lady  Chevenix  bowed  as  she  quitted  the 
room,  and  the  gentlemen  stood  in  little  groups  to  talk 
about  her. 

"  What  a  fate !"  said  Lord  Arlington.  "  So  young  and 
so  beautiful !  She  will  have  an  income  of  over  thirty 
thousand  pounds  per  annum,  too.  What  a  strange  fate  !" 

"That  comes  of  having  a  beautiful  face,"  put  in  frank 
Captain  Hill.  "  A  beautiful  face  is  better  than  a  fortune. " 

"At  times,"  said  Darcy  Lonsdale.  "Every  beautiful 
woman  is  not  favored  like  Lady  Chevenix." 

Then  matters  pertaining  to  the  estate  were  discussed  by 
the  executors,  and  it  was  arranged  that,  with  the  young 
widow's  consent,  all  business  should  still  be  left  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Lonsdale. 

A  very  different  scene  was  passing  in  the  room  where 
Lady  Chevenix  sat  with  her  mother.  Mrs.  Haye  was  walk- 
ing up  and  down,  her  pride  and  elation  almost  more  than 
she  could  conceal. 

"  I  always  liked  Sir  Owen,  my  dear.  I  always  said  that 
he  was  a  most  honorable  man.  What  could  be  nobler  than 
his  treatment  of  you?  I  have  known  such  terrible  things 
happen. " 

"  What  kind  of  things,  mamma  ?"  asked  the  rwidow,  but 
there  was  little  interest  in  the  tone  of  her  voice. 

"  Terrible  things,  my  dear.  I  have  heard  of  rich  men 
dying,  and  leaving  a  handsome  fortune  to  their  wives  on 
condition  that  they  never  married  again.  Now  I  call  that 
most  atrociously  mean," 

"So  it  is,  mamma,"  said  Lady  Chevenix,  "and  very 
wrong,  too." 

She  spoke,  however,  as  one  whose  thoughts  were  not 
with  her  words.  She  had  untied  the  widow's  cap,  and  was 
caressing  with  her  fingers  the  long  golden  hair  that  fell 
over  her  shoulders.  Mrs.  Haye  did  not  observe  her. 

"Sir  Owen,  you  see,  Violet,  had  more  sense  than  that.  I 
have  never  heard  of  a  more  generous  will.  Only  twenty- 
six,  and  you  do  not  look  twenty,  young,  beautiful,  with  a 
fortune  like  that — what  more  could  any  woman  desire?" 

"  I  desire  no  more,  mamma.     I   only  feel  as  though  I 


WEAKER  THAN  A  TF03/.4.V.  239 

•wanted  a  long  rest.    I  am  very  tired  ;  no  one  can  tell  how 
tired  I  am." 

•  Your  income  will  be  over  thirty  thousand  a  year.    Only 
think   of  that.     And  it  was  so  good  of  your  dear  hu- 
to   leave   your   father  and  myself  five  thousand  pounds  ;  it 
showed  such  a  kind  feeling.    It  amch 

good  fortune  should  have  fallen  to  your  lot/' 

The  young'widow  looked  around  her  sumptuous  room. 
"Yes,"  she   said,  "it   seems  strange  to  remember  that  I 

•nee  Violet  II 

"  'Beautiful  Violet  Have,'  all  the  young  farmers  called 
you,1'  rejoined  Mrs.    Have.     Then  she  saw  the  golden 
lying  on  the  folds  rf  crape.     An  expression  of  horror 
over  her  face.     "My  dear  Violet,  how  can  you  beso 
'she   cried,  "and   after  such  a  will  as  that  .'     !' 

.  my  dear  child,  at  once.     Only  in: 
if  one  of  the  servants  saw  you.    I  should  never  1". 


. 

'-I  did  not  think  of  what  I  was  doing,"  said  Lady  Ci. 
nix.  languidly. 

"  But  you  must  think  of  such  things.    Ttou  must  study 

It  is  a  duty." 

Mrs.  Have  hastened  to  her  daughter's  side,  and  with  li 
own  hands   wound   the  golden  hair  into  a  large  knot 

her  head. 

,  not  take  it  oil'  again,  Yi..let,"  she  said;     after 
a  will  it  seems  quite  hi  . 

She  wondered  why  her  daughtei   laughed   wit 
hopeless  expression—  she  who  was  misti 
sand  a  year. 

CHAPTER  XLIH. 

"WHAT   IS   IT?" 

Long  months  had  passed  since  Sir  Owen  was  laid    in   his 
grave,  and    now   Au_ 
ripe   fruits  and   yellow  corn.     Lady  Chevenix   « 

d,   was  a  model   widow.  >"<;<-' 

elapsed   since   her  husband's  death    hardly  < 
had   seen  her.     Visitors   !  •  I'"* 

admitted;  they  had   lefl   cards  and  condol.  d   hart 

,    approved    of   the   fact  that    1  ™ni* 

!*!,  g  of  time  wither 

It-^s.  indeed;  that  most  estnnai.le  lad>  who  Had 


240  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

the  long  course  of  seclusion — who  saw  that  the  golden 
head  was  not  uncovered  until  the  proper  time — who 
brought  to  her  daughter  all  the  news  of  the  outer  world, 
and  formed  the  one  link  between  her  and  society  in  gen- 
eral. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  decorous  or  proper,  and 
every  one  felt  it  to  be  quite  the  right  thing  to  speak  of 
Lady  Chevenix  as  feeling  her  husband's  loss  so  keenly 
that  she  was  no  "  Dnger  able  to  see  any  one. 

Did  she  feel  it  so  keenly  ?  She  never  asked  herself  the 
question.  She  had  been  overwhelmed  with  the  horror  of 
the  closing  scene — as  indeed  had  every  one  else  who  had 
witnessed  it.  It  had  haunted  her  sleeping  and  waking 
hours,  as  it  had  the  days  and  nights  of  every  other  witness. 
She  had  been  stunned  and  bewildered  by  it.  She  had  been 
feo  frightened  that  all  her  natural  high  spirits  had  left  her. 
Did  she  regret  Sir  Owen  very  much  ?  She  could  not  tell 
— she  never  asked  herself  the  question.  She  had  been 
shocked,  startled,  horrified — but  it  was  hot  the  keen  sorrow 
of  her  loss  that  made  her  shrink  from  all  observation.  It 
was  rather  the  reaction  from  what  she  had  suffered.  And 
she  suffered  still.  She  often  started  in  alarm  from  her 
seat,  her  heart  beating  with  terror,  thinking  that  she  heard 
her  husband's  voice ;  then  she  remembered  that  he  was 
dead.  She  woke  often  from  her  sleep,  her  pillow  wet  with 
tearss,  her  whole  frame  trembling  with  the  horror  of  some 
terrible  dream,  in  which  her  husband  was  an  active  figure 
— and  then  she  remembered  with  a  strange  emotion  that  he 
was  dead. 

It  was  strange  to  go  about  the  house  without  fear :  it 
was  strange  to  give  her  orders  with  certainty  that  thev 
would  be  obeyed ;  it  was  strange  to  knoAv  that  she  need 
tremble  and  suffer  no  more.  There  were  to  be  no  more 
anxious  hours  spent  in  waiting  for  her  husband  to  go  out 
and  come  in ;  it  was  all  over — he  waL  dead.  She  said 
the  words  to  herself  a  hundred  times  each  day — "  Sir  Owen 
is  dead."  She  had  found  it  difficult  to  realize  her  subser- 
vience ;  she  found  it  just  as  difficult  to  realize  her  inde- 
pendence. She  told  herself -at  times  that  she  was  absolute 
mistress  of  Garswood — absolute  mistress  of  thirty  thou- 
sand a  year ;  but  she  could  neither  realize  nor  understand 
it. 

One  day  Lord  Arlington  found  it  necessary  to  see  Lady 
Chevenix  on  businsss ;  he  was  accompanied  bj  Captain 
HiJl.  She  received  them  with  quiet  grace,  and  listened 
with  intelligence  to  all  their  business  statements ;  then  she 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  241 

laid  it  was  her  express  wish  that  Darcy  Lonsdale  should 
continue  to  act  in  every  way  for  her,  but  as  he  would  have 
more  to  do,  she  insisted  on  doubling  the  salnry  Sir  <  >\ven 
had  paid  him.  Lord  Arlington  was  very  pleased  about  it, 
and  the  interview  ended  satisfactorily. 

Meanwhile  Darcy  Lonsdale  spent  whole  days  at  Gars- 
wood,  and  it  was  strange  that  he  never  once  mentioned 
Felix  to  Lady  Chevenix — nor  did  she  inquire  about  him. 
But  one  day,  when  some  protracted  business  was  coining 
to  an  end,  she  looked  up  suddenly,  and  said  : 

"Your  son  was  very  kind   to  me   in  my  distress,  Mr. 
Lonsdale.    I  can  never  forget  bow  kind  be  was.    1'. 
him  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done/' 

"I  am  sure  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  be  of  service  to 
you,  Lady  Chevenix,"  he  replied. 

"It  was  doubly  kind  of  him.     lie  heaped  coals  of   I' 
my  head,"  she  declared,  warmly.     After  a  fe\v  minutes  she 
added,  "I   should  like  very  much  to  make  him  a  pp 
Mr.  Lonsdale — just  as  a  slight  acknowledgment  of  bis  kind- 
ness to  me.     I  should  like  to  present  him   with   a  diamond 
ring.     I  thought  I  would  consult  you  first.     What  d> 
think  of  it?" 

She  saw  Darcy  Lonsdale's  face  flush.    He  did  not  ai: 
for  a  few  minutes ;  then  he  replied  : 

"I  will  speak  to  you  quite  frankly,  Lady  Chevenix.  I  do 
not  think  that  he  would  like  it." 

She  bowed  to  him. 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  asked  you,"  she  replied.  "You  know 
best." 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  the  fact  of  his  having  been  ol 
vice  to  you  will  be  far  more  to  him  than  any  di.n 
or  anything  that  could  be  given  to  him,'1  said  Dai 
dale. 

"  How  is  your  son  ?"  she  asked.     "  Is  ho  well  ?    1  b  •  i 
comes  here. " 

"  He  is  quite  well,but  so  busy  that  we  see  little  of  him  a 
home.     He  works  without  intermission." 

She  looked  as  though   she  would   fain  a 
question.     She  played  for  a  few  minutes   with    t! 
of  her  widow's  cap,  and  her  beautiful  faee  flushed.    \\  hi 
ever  the  question  might  have  been  that  she  wished 
it  remained  unsooken.  , 

On  that  same  evening  her  mother  was  at  < 
Lady  Chevenix  seemed  restless.    She  changed  to 
tinually,   and  then,  tired  of  sitting,  she  walked  up  and 
down  the  room. 


212  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"You  are  very  restless,  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Haye.  "Why 
is  it,  my  dear  ?" 

"  I  want  to  hear  some  news  of  my  Lilford  friends ;  none 
of  them  come  near  me.  How  is  Eve  Lester,  mamma  ?  Has 
she  a  fiance  yet  ?  Is  there  any  rumor  of  her  marriage  ?" 

"  No.  People  say  that  she  has  refused  some  good  offers 
— no  one  knows  why, "  said  Mrs.  Haye. 

"And — and  Felix  Lonsdale,  mamma.  Is  he  going  to 
marry?" 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Haye  looked  keenly  at  her  daughter, 
and  then  she  answered,  carelessly : 

"  I  hear  nothing  of  him.  I  do  not  think  he  will  ever 
find  time  to  marry ;  he  has  too  much  business." 

"  Does  he — let  me  think — what  is  the  Lilford  phrase  ? 
Does  he  'pay  his  addresses'  to  anybody?" 

She  waited  restlessly  for  the  answer. 

"  No, "  replied  Mrs.  Haye,  "  I  have  not  heard  that  he  does ; 
in  fact,  he  has  no  time. " 

She  looked  again  at  her  daughter,  but  Violet's  face  was 
turned  to  the  window. 

Later  on  Mrs.  Haye  began  talking  to  her  of  the  brilliant 
second  marriages  she  had  heard  of — marriages  of  fair 
young  widows  who  had  been  left  with  large  fortunes — how 
they  had  made  most  brilliant  matches,  married  lords  and 
dukes,  filled  grand  positions,  and  made  famous  names. 
She  did  not  say  that  there  was  a  moral  to  be  drawn  from 
all  this,  but  she  left  it  for  her  daughter  to  think  over. 

So  time  passed,  and  at  last  Lady  Chevenix  wrote  to  im- 
plore Marian  Hethcote  to  return  to  her,  if  only  for  a  few 
days — for  she  was  longing  for  a  change.  But,  when  Marian 
came,  it  was.found  that  she  had  permission  to  remain  six 
months,  if  Lady  Chevenix  desired  it. 

Miss  Hethcote  deplored  the  sudden  and  untimely  death  of 
the  master  of  Garswood,  but  there  could  be  no  doubt  her 
second  visit  was  more  pleasant  than  her  first.  Lady  Cheve- 
nix was  cheered  by  the  presence  of  her  young  guest ;  it 
was  novel  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  laugh  in  the  gloomy  Hall. 
Marian  said  to  her  one  day : 

"  Dear  Lady  Chevenix,  do  you  know  what,  if  I  were  in 
your  place,  I  should  do  ?" 

"I  cannot  guess,"  she  replied. 

"  I  should  leave  Garswood  for  a  few  months  or  longer. 
This  house  is  haunted,  I  am  sure,  for  you." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  she  acknowledged  ;  "  it  is  haunted.  If  I 
go  into  the  library  I  see  my  husband  there.  I  fancy  I  hear 
his  voice  in  the  corridors.  There  is  not  a  room  in  the  house 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WOMAN.  243 

which  has  not  some  sad  or  sorrowful  association.    I  should 
like    to    go  away,   Marian.       Will  you  come    with    me? 

ma  can; 
"  I  will  u'o  with  pleasure."  <he  replied.     "  V.  \\  we 

Shall  it  be  to  Scotland,  Switzerland 
"Let  us  go  to  Xormand  ;,"  said    I. 
should   1  i 

mamma  want-  -he  will  j. 

will    •  'i,  and   ti 

!th  and  youth  and 

tion  Lad;.  :iix  and  Miss  Hethcote  left 

-lie  months  in  pictures. pie  Normandy. 

to  him.     Slit-  did  another  thing  which  p' 

much,  though  he  said  little  about  it.     "\V 
'  i  rough  Loud*  :.-h  a  hamper 

'ren  as  i 

among   t'lem    f"r_:<  >tten.     To  K 
such  ornaments  that    her  - 
at  th  .MVV  himself 

In  the  letter  that  accompanied  tir 
"I   did   not  i,  to  hid  him 

him  ;  f'>r   kind 

sympathy  and  help  that  1  shall 

-dale  looked  at  his  son  when  he  read  the  i 
sage;  but  Felix  turned  away  without  a  w.ml  :  nor   d 

•  ion  Lad\  -name.    Darcy  Loi; 

-.vith  her  thoughtfulne 

••  If.'r  BOTTOM  1."  he  said  t«>  his  \ 

But  that  nbstinate  little   lady  shook  her  1 

the  sparkling  ornaments  had  not  ehaiip-.l  h,  : 
Th  -   at  Gar- 

•  poor  Sir  Owen  had  at  tin. 
hideous  ami  niirht  terriblei     Agaii 

'•itod.     Nothiiiu'  '-ould  have  been  mon>  p 
told  each  other,  with  sympai  L»« 

••nix"   had   p.n<-  abroad    to  recruil 
great  trial.     Even  Lady  Koli'e  said  to  1, 
one  of  the  most  sensible  thing 
that,  after  all,  she  had  turned  out  better  than  she  I 
had  ever  anticipated. 

•I  think,  Lavinia,"  she  said,  "that  it  was  f-rtunate  3 
lost  such  a  chance.     A  widow  with  so  much  wealtl 
very  sad.     I  never  like  to  think  of  it." 
u  I  would  not  have  cnanged  places  with  Lady  Chev 


244  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

for  all  the  money  Sir  Owen  was  worth,"  said  the  curate's 
wife.  "I  have  at  least  a  good,  kind  husband,  mamma; 
while  the  poor  girl  lived  in  fear  of  losing  her  life.  Money 
is  a  great  advantage,  but  it  is  not  all  the  world.  I  am  hap- 
pier now  than  I  should  have  been  had  I  married  Sir  Owen. " 

After  a  few  days  the  gossip  about  Lady  Chevenix  died 
away,  while  she  and  Marian  made  themselves  comfortable 
in  their  pretty  chateau.  Violet  soon  recovered  her  bloom ; 
a  lovely  tinge  as  of  a  blush  rose  came  to  her  face  ;  her  eyes 
grew  brighter,  and  lost  all  their  shadow  ;  the  last  few  years 
seemed  to  fall  from  her,  and  she  looked  young  and  fair — as 
she  had  looked  when  she  married  Sir  Owen. 

"You  appear  to  be  so  well,"  said  Marian  to  her  one  day, 
"  yet  you  are  so  thoughtful.  What  are  you  always  think- 
ing about,  Lady  Chevenix  ?" 

"  Am  I  always  thinking  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  happy  brood- 
ing light  in  her  eyes.  "I  did  not  know  it." 

"  What  is  it  about  ?  Something  pleasant,  I  am  sure,  for 
you  smile  as  you  think,  and  at  times  a  little  pink  flush 
creeps  up  to  your  hair  even.  I  speak  to  you,  and  you  do 
not  hear  me.  I  leave  you,  and  you  do  not  miss  me.  Why 
is  it,  I  wonder?" 

But  Lady  Chevenix  made  no  answer.  She  never  imparted 
to  any  one  these  the  most  treasured  thoughts  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"HOW    I    LOVE     YOU!" 

All  Loomshire  was  shaken  to  its  very  center.  Such  news 
had  not  been  heard  in  the  neighborhood  for  years ;  there 
was  a  general  sentiment  of  rejoicing.  Lady  Maude  Arling- 
ton was  going  to  be  married — Lady  Maude,  whom  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  county  looked  upon  as  a  princess.  Whom 
was  she  going  to  marry?  That  was  the  question  every  one 
asked.  And  the  answer  gave  universal  pleasure.  It  was 
the  hero  of  the  Victoria  Cross — Major  Rawson.  Every  one 
was  delighted  with  the  alliance.  Lady  Maude  was  so  be- 
loved, while  the  name  of  Major  Rawson  was  known 
wherever  bravery  or  valor  was  honored. 

The  county  awoke  suddenly.  There  had  been  many 
queens  since  Lady  Maude  first  began  to  reign,  but  none 
were  like  her,  and  Loomshire  awoke  to  the  knowledge  that 
it  was  about  to  lose  its  chief  ornament,  and  that  the  time 
was  come  to  do  all  honor  to  the  earl's  daxighter. 

No  one  was  more  delighted  than  Felix.     In  his  heart  he 


WEAKER  THAN  A   JFOJ/.l.V. 

thought  no  one  good  enough  for  the  noble,  beautiful  woman 
whom  he  admired,  and  who  had  been  to  him  th. 
truest  of  friends.  He  was  sorry  t<>  lose  her;  lit-  knew  that 
Bramber  Towers  would  never  again  he  the  place  it  had  heen 
while  she  reigned  there  ;  at  the  same  time  he  was  delighted 
that  her  noble  life  had  its  reward  in  a  noble  love. 

Lady  Maude  could  have  told  how  she  had  loved  the  1. 
soldier  before   he   went  to  the  war  in  which  he  h.. 
such  renown.     She  could  have  told  how    she  ha<l 
her  love  in  her  heart,  and'had   kept  it  as  a  prie, 
ure,  never  dreamiiur   that  it  could    I 
yet  preferring  to  love  a  hero,  and  love  in  vain,  t!. 
the  wife  of  a  peer. 

But  Major  Rawson  loved  her.  and    ther 
to  their  marriage.    He  was  heir  to  an  aneient  tit!- 

pge   fortune.      She    had    a.    fortune  of   her  own.      £ 
Loomshire  awoke,  and  roused  itself  to  d<>  honor  f.  the  mar- 
riage of   its  queen. 

Tiie  marriage  was  1,,  take  place  al  the  old  parish 

of  Lilford.     Lady  Maude  would  have  it  so.     T! 

of    Arlington    had    suggested    London,    and 
Hanover  square.     Lady  Maude  had  laughed. 

\    it  he   in  the  old  church  on  the  hill,  ' 
},..„]  said.   -Ii  is  an  odd  fancy,  but  1  think  1  shoU 
that  1  had  heen  married  unless  those  ^1,-mn    old 
shaken  their  heads  over  me,  and  the  rocks  had   h 

bout  my  wedding." 

•  sLady  Maude  had  had  her  way  all  her  life,  s 

.,-.  and  the  ceremony  was  to  be  performed 


Th.'   rejoicings  wer< 

done  anv  one's  heart  K I  to  h 

toe  crowds  of  children  with   H 

bride-tohav6  seen  the  poor  the  old  fh«  i,,  irm 

up  to  the  church  to  have  01 
bSen  so  good  to  them  all.     I 

and  peeresses,  with  some  of   the  i 

land,  wen' there.      Th< 

iille«l  with  smiling  fac. 

Maude  nothing  on  her  wedding-diiy  was  sod. 

ions  as  the  M.  f  the  children  and 

The  wedding 
and  so  goodly  a  company]  ,  \  ,; 

US; 


246  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

him  for  a  moment,  for  she  read  in  his  face  that  he  longed 
to  say  something  to  her.  She  never  forgot  the  few  words 
that  he  did  say.  She  laid  her  hand  in  his  for  a  second  ;  he 
bent  down  and  kissed  it,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  How  am  I  to  thank  you,  Lady  Maude,"  he  said,  "  for  all 
that  you  have  done  for  me  ?  You  came  to  me  in  the  dark- 
est moment  of  my  life,  and  I  owe  to  you,  after  Heaven,  all 
that  I  am.  How  must  I  thank  you  ?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile  into  the  handsome  face  that 
was  full  of  emotion. 

"You  can  thank  me  best,"  she  replied,  "by  being,  as  the 
story  books  say,  good  and  happy  now  and  henceforward. " 

"I  will  try,"  he  said,  "and  no  one,  Lady  Maude,  says 
*  Heaven  bless  you  !' more  fervently  than  I  do — I,  whom 
you  saved  from  ruin. " 

As  they  drove  down  the  long  avenue,  amid  cheers  and 
shouts  and  good  wishes  that  were  enough  to  deafen  them, 
Major  Rawson  turned  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  to  his  wife. 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  had  such  a  royal  dowry, 
3Iaude. ',' 

"  What  dowry  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked. 

"  The  dowry  of  blessings  from  young  and  old,  rich  and 
poor.  What  have  you  done  to  make  all  these  people  love 
you  so  ?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"I  have  done  nothing  but  my  duty,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  you  have  done  it  with  grace  and  sweetness, "  he 
said.  "  Teach  me  to  do  mine  as  well.  If*  I  could  hear  as 
many  blessings  follow  me  as  follow  you  I  should  be  happy. " 

"•  Are  you  not  happy  now?"  she  asked,  with  a  charming 
smile. 

His  answer  was  prompt  and  decisive. 

Knowing  Miss  Lester's  secret  predilection  for  hearing 
news  that  she  was  too  proud  to  seek,  Felix  went  over  to  the 
•Outlands  a  few  days  afterward.  He  had  not  seen  Eve 
lately,  and  was  anxious  about  her.'  He  had  heard  Kate 
say  that  she  was  not  looking  well — that  she  had  grown 
thin  and  pale,  and  seemed  to  have  lost  some  of  her  old 
bright  spirit ;  and  those  few  words  had  made  Felix  anx- 
ious. Finding  one  evening  that  he  had  an  hour's  leisure 
he  thought  that  he  could  not  do  better  than  devote  it  to  her. 

Miss  Lester  was  looking  a  little  more  cross  and  impa- 
tient than  usual  when  the  young  lawyer  greeted  her,. and 
he  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  am  not  pleased  about  the  corn,"  she  briefly  replied. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.     What  is  the  matter  with  it  ?" 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  247 

"It  does  not  ripen  as  it  should,"  she  replied. 
lhat  must  be  the  fault  of  the  sun,"  said  Felix 

^mbl?  Towers  J°U  WMe  PreS6nt  at  ^  «"  **  " 
"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  was  there." 

mt  nffn  te«    fe  a11  tbout  Lad7  Maude's  marriage.    It  is- 
not  often  that  one  has  the  opportunity  of  hearii 
such  grand  affairs;  tell  me  everything  that 


"  I  came  on  purpose  to  do  so,"  said  Felix.  «  I  thought  v,  ,u 

UF  .  f  V  (T'1  touhear  about  «•  But  «h;i11  «•«•  '»*  - 

fo    h\  el    Perhaps  she  would  be  interest,-.!,  too." 

'No,'  replied  Miss  Lester,  "she  would  not-unless  it 
TV  ere  about  a  marriage  in  the  moon.  I  tell  herahvavs  that 
she  is  waiting  to  marry  the  man  in  th-  moon.  Sit  dowS 
v  th.  -s,-  bee-hives.  Never  mind  the  bees:  th.-v  will 
not  Sting  you  unless  you  interfere  with  th.-m.  As  I  sit 
here  lean  see  what  is  going  on  around  me.  and  n,,  man 
dl'^  while  my  eyes  are  on  him.  Tell  me  about  Lady  Maude 

•st.     Do  you  know,  I  heard  a  foolish  rumor 
Lonsdale  P' 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  lieard  a  great    many  fal<,.  run 
in  your  time,  Miss  Lester,"  he  remarked 
that  the  world  is  full  of  them.     AVhat  was  th, 

lei-   to"? 

"I  heard   that  you   were  in  love  with  Ladv  Ma  i 
that  she  liked  you,"  said  Miss  Jane,  solemn 

He  laughed  BO  heartily  that  she  f.-lt  at  once  :  no 

truth  in  it.     Her  grim  face  relaxed   at  the  sound 
mirth. 

"How  absurd  !"  he  said.     "There   is  no  lady  in  1 
whom    [  hold   in  higher  reverence  and  esteem  than   ' 
Maude.    As  for  being  in  love  with  her,  it 
that  she  is  an  earl's  daughter,  and  in  my  own  fashion 
as  proud  as  a  king.    I  would  no  more  marry  a  ri«-h  %\..: 
and  live  on  her  money  than  I  would  <-h 

He  marveled  why  Miss  Jane  ]ouk<  -illy  at  him. 

"I   wonder  if  you  will  always  think  so?"  si 
nestly. 

I  am  quite  sure  that  T  shall.     I  think   independ 
noble    (|iiality,    and    one    to   which    Kw^lishn: 


, 

may  lay  claim.     I  have  a  great  respect  for  it,  and 
ever  exoivi.se  it." 


248  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"Now  tell  me  abc  rt  the  wedding,"  said  Miss  Lester.  And 
Felix  gave  her  a  most  animated  account  of  it. 

She  was  delighted,  and  would  have  listened  to  him  for 
another  hour,  but  that  her  keen  eyes  detected  a  dairymaid 
enjoying  the  homage  paid  by  one  of  the  reapers. 

"Go  into  the  house  and  find  Eve,"  she  said.  "I  shall  be 
with  you  directly. " 

Felix  found  Eve  in  the  garden,  and  so  intently  was  the 
girl  thinking  that  she  never  heard  his  footsteps  until  he 
stood  by  her  side. 

"  Eve  !"  he  said,  gently,  and  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden 
change  in  her  face  when  she  saw  him.  It  was  dyed  crim- 
son, and  the  sweet,  earnest  eyes  fell  before  his.  She  could 
not  speak  to  him  at  once,  and  a  sudden  conviction  flashed 
.across  his  mind  that  at  the  moment  he  had  accosted  her 
she  was  thinking  of  him. 

"  My  dear  Eve, "  he  said,  "  are  we  such  strangers  that  you 
.should  be  so  startled  by  my  presence  ?  I  was  told  you 
were  not  looking  so  well,  and  I  am  come  to  see." 

"I  am  quite  well,"  she  answered,  in  her  sweet,  low 
voice,  "  and  very  pleased  to  see  you. " 

"  You  look  well  enough  just  now.  You  have  the  color  of 
&  rose  in  your  face,"  he  told  her.  "May  I  find  a  seat  here? 
I  have  an  hour  to  spare,  and  am  come  to  spend  it  with  you." 

He  sat  down  on  a  little  garden  chair,  under  the  luxuriant 
jessamine,  and  began  to  talk  to  her.  A  sense  of  peace  and 
repose  always  came  over  him  when  he  was  with  Eve — a 
sense  so  sweet  that  he  never  cared  to  disturb  it,  and  the 
same  magical  feeling  was  stealing  over  him  now.  When 
they  had  been  talking  for  some  time,  he  looked  at  her,  and 
then  he  saw  how  true  Mrs.  Lonsdale's  words  were.  The 
sweet  face  had  grown  very  thin  and  pale  ;  there  was  a  dull 
look  in  the  tender  eyes,  as  though  she  had  wept  bitter 
tears.  She  was  much  changed,  and  Felix  was  pained  to 
see  it.  He  marveled  as  to  the  cause,  and  then  decided  to 
question  her. 

"  Eve,"  he  said,  gently,  "you  are  not  well.  Why  do  you 
not  go  to  the  sea-side  for  change  of  air?" 

"  I  am  happier  here  than  I  should  be  anywhere,"  she  re- 
plied. 

His  ears  detected  a  tone  of  patient  weariness  in  her 
voice. 

"  Eve,"  he  said,  impulsively,  "I  do  not  believe  you  are 
happy.  Have  you  any  trouble  or  sorrow  ?  Trust  me,  as 
1  trust  you. " 

The  sweet  face  looked  up  at,  him. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  249 


-  had  gone  a^ayshe  sat  under  the 

jessamine,  and  once  she  cried  • 

love          "  ^  y°U  WiU  neV6r  kn°W  in  this  world  how 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
MRS.    HATE'S   RESERVE. 

One  fine  morning  in  September  a  letter  camo  to  the 
of  Lonsdale  &  hoii  which  presented  very  familiar 
to  those  who  received  it.  The  creamy  col 
the  delicate  handwriting,  the  faint  perfume 
CTCBrt  on  the  seal—  each  and  all  were  Jamil 
"It  is  from  Lady  Cheveniac,"  said  Felix,  aa  he  placed  it 

8  his  father—  of  all  the  letters  that  had 
from  her  he  had  never  opened  one. 

Mr.  Lousdale  read  it,  and  then  looked  at  }\\< 
"She  i  8  coming  home,  "he  announo  will  l,o  at 

'.-ood  by  the  end  of  the  week,  and  wants  me  to  see  that 
everything  is  ready  for  her.     I  had   better 
Hall  at  once.     Ah,  her.  -t  script-  I 

one   in  a  lady's  letter!—  'Remember  me  kindly   to  Mrs. 
Lonsdale-aiid  Felix.'  " 

"She  is  very  kind,"  said  Felix,  as  he  sorted  his  pap. 
"I  suppose  you  told  her  what  an  accumulatioi 
awaits  1 

}.     I  thought  it  time  she  either  returned 
fuller  powers  Of  acting,*1  replied  Mr.  Li.nsdale. 
she  is  c..niing  ]iomr.     I  ,],,  ,,,,t  like  the  Jlall 
makes  the  whole  neighborhood  dull." 

Darcy  Lonsdaie  rode  oil  at  once  \\itli  IT 
very    pleaded    the    household    at    <Jai-<\\ 
young  mistress  had  been  woi-sliiped  among  them. 
Were  delighted  at  tile  thought  of  her  reti. 
Kave  all   nei-cssar\-  Orders    90    i: 
find  everything  ready  on  her  return,  and    should    , 
uny  comfort  or  luxtn-y. 

!!<•    called    on  Mrs.  H.-iye,  and   found   t' 
heai-d  fi-om  her  daughter,  and  that  she  \v 
wood    to    be    in    read  ii:' 

very  ambition  had  pleir 

good  adv.  alth 

and  a  title,  she  must  look  for  something  higher  still. 


250  WJSAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"She  ought  to  marry  a  duke  next,"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band, but  Francis  Haye  answered : 
"It  is  just  possible  she  may  not  care  to  marry  again." 

His  wife  laughed  at  this. 

"After  proving  herself  so  sensible,  do  you  think  she  in- 
tends to  retire  upon  her  laurels  ?  You  may  depend  upon  it, 
Francis,  her  second  marriage  will  be  far  more  brilliant 
than  her  first. " 

"You  know  best,  of  course,  my  dear,"  said  Francis 
Haye,  meekly.  "  Violet  owes  a  great  deal  to  your  training.*1 

"I  flatter  myself,"  remarked  Mrs.  Haye,  "that  I  have 
made  her  what  she  is.  My  prudence  and  diplomacy,  dur- 
ing her  first  foolish  engagement  to  Felix  Lonsdale,  made 
her  Lady  Chevenix. " 

"  That  I  believe,  but  I  doubt  if  she  has  ever  been  really 
happy  since.  Do  you  remember  how  she  used  to  smile  and 
blush  when  Felix  came  ?" 

"  It  was  childish  nonsense  ;  she  has  something  better  to 
do  than  smile  and  blush  now,"  replied  Mrs.  Haye, 
severely.  "  I  hope  when  she  does  come  you  will  not  en- 
courage her  in  any  nonsense.  Only  imagine — if  we  should 
live  to  see  her  a  duchess  !  I  always  knew  that  she  would 
be  fortunate  in  life.  What  a  cruel  thing  it  would  have  been 
if  she  had  married  Felix  Lonsdale  !" 

At  the  end  of  the  week  another  letter  came  to  the  office 
at  Lilford,  asking  Darcy  Lonsdale  to  go  over  to  Lady 
Chevenix  at  once.  He  went,  and  on  his  return  he  said  to 
Felix : 

"  There  is  a  terrible  accumulation  of  work  at  Garswood. 
Lady  Chevenix  wishes  me  to  remain  at  the  Hall  for  a  week, 
and  clear  up  all  arrears.  It  will  occupy  a  week — the 
Michaelmas  accounts  are  always  heavy,  but,  Felix,  I  can- 
not spare  a  week.  Lord  Arlington's  rent-dinner  and  many 
other  things  are  close  at  hand.  I  do  not  think  I  can  spare 
a  week.  I  made  a  suggestion  to  Lady  Chevenix,  which  she 
seemed  very  pleased  with  ;  it  was  that,  instead  of  my  going 
to  the  Hall  for  six  days,  we  should  both  go  for  three — that 
is,  of  course,  if  you  are  willing. " 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me,  father,"  he  replied. 
"  Whichever  plan  suits  you  best,  or  pleases  you  best,  I  will 
follow." 

"Then  we  will  both  go.  It  is  far  easier  to  go  to  Gars- 
wood  and  take  a  clerk  with  us  than  to  have  all  that  mass 
of  documents  brought  to  the  office. " 

So  it  was  settled  that  they  were  to  go  to  the  Hall,  and  do 
all  the  business  as  quicuiy  as  possible  there. 


WKAKEK  TRA3  A  WOMAN.  251 

"I  shall  prefer  sitting  up  at  night,"  said  Felix.  *•!  can 
always  work  better  when  there  is  perfect  silence.  A  few 
hours1  extra  work  each  night,  and  we  shall  soon  have 
finished." 

He  little  dreamed  to  what  that  sitting  up  would  ' 
Thov  went  <>n  {he  .M<ui'l.ty  evening— a   beautiful    uuturnT 
evening,  when   the   sunbeams   fell   on    1  i 
lighted    up    the    pietures<pi  <>f  buil.lt  • 

visitors  were  at  the   Hall.     Captain  IV11,  M 
Hcthente— who    seemed  as  th.>ii.L:h    she  would    ne 

Chevenix  again— Lady  Hi-owning,  and  M  i— all 

guests  whom  Lady  Chevenix  had  invii 

Father  and  son  were  taken  at  once  to  her  boudoir,  v. 
she  sat  alone,  and  never  in  her  whole  lift-  had  Vi..l-t  I- 
80  charming.     The  year  of  quietness  ami  repose  in   t! 

formandj  "  marvelously  beneti. 

While  there  she  had  not  a  sh:ul«>\v  "f  care;  she  i 
nothi'  3*i  t()   realize  her 

tune    and  to  recruit  her  health.     The  consequ 
She  i  with  a  lovely  and  dainty  hi... MM. 

no  longer  the  faintest  shadow  on  her  lace;  it  v 

it,  laughing    light;    the   violet    eyes    W( 
bright  as  stars,  the  searlet  lips  untroubled. 

din  the  light. .ft1 
sun   and  his  eyes   were  <!a//led  by  her 

,re  a  dress  of  rich  bla.-k  velvet  - 
as  to  show  the   while   neck,  .m   which  a 
gleamed  like   fnv.     She   wore   diamond   br; 
arms  ;  diamond  stars  sh..ne  in  the  coils  of  goldei  . 

In   kindli<-st  greeting  she   held   out  her  v 
hands    in    Mr  le    and    his  BOD,  but    • 

ttyhadforafewmiii  then 

am  so  delighted,"  she  -th  ahoa 

beautiful  eyes.K"Ithoug] 
away  from   the  other 

Mr.    Lonsdale,  take  this  easy-chair.      I  -b 
into  the  old  fa  -   '.^h; 

- 

- 


252  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Lady  Chevenix  seemed  to  have  grown  young  again ;  her 
sunny  smiles,  her  unusual  laughter,  her  quick,  clever 
repartee,  her  keen  enjoyment  of  their  society — all  were 
noticeable.  She  had  indeed  altered  ;  she  was  like  beautiful 
Violet  Haye  ;  all  trace  of  the  quiet,  cold  Lady  Chevenix  had 
vanished. 

Then  her  smiles  died  away  for  a  few  minutes  as  they 
talked  of  the  terrible  trial  they  had  gone  through  together. 
She  looked  with  soft,  luminous  eyes  into  Darcy  Lonsdale's 
face. 

"  What  old  friends  we  are !"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  And  how  strange  it  seems  that  you  should  have  been  with 
me  when  he  died — that  Felix  should  have  been  my  chief 
comfort !  What  a  riddle  life  is  to  read  !" 

After  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Lonsdale  remarked  : 

"  You  must  not  charm  us  into  forgetting  our  work,  Lady 
Chevenix  ;  there  is  so  very  much  to  be  done. " 

"  You  can  begin  as  early  as  you  like  in  the  morning, "  she 
said,  "  but  this  one  evening  you  must  give  to  me.  Think 
what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  me  to  talk  to  such  old  friends.  I 
shall  get  up  early,  too,  and  see  that  you  have  breakfast 
before  you  begin.  I  shall  make  your  tea ;  I  am  sure  that 
no  one  else  could  make  it  nicely  enough. " 

Darcy  Lonsdale  told  her  laughingly  that  she  would  spoil 
him,  and  both  gentlemen  were  surprised  to  find  that  they 
had  been  talking  for  an  hour  instead  of  a  few  minutes. 

They  arose  when  the  first  bell  rang  for  dinner,  and  Lady 
Chevenix,  looking  at  Felix,  asked  him  : 

"  How  is  Evelyn  Lester  ?" 

He  told  her  that  she  was  not  looking  either  bright  or 
well  lately,  and  then  they  separated. 

Long  after  father  and  son  had  left  her  the  beautiful 
woman  sat  with  a  happy,  brooding  light  in  her  eyes,  and 
a  smile  like  summer  sunshine  on*her  lips.  And  when  she 
arose  to  return  to  her  visitors  she  murmured  to  herself : 

"  At  last,  ray  love,  at  last !" 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening ;  the  dinner-party  was  bright 
and  cheerful,  and  after  dinner  the  guests  had  music,  cards, 
and  conversation.  More  than  once  Lady  Chevenix  made 
room  for  Felix  near  her,  and  talked  to  him.  But,  if  Lady 
Chevenix  was  unusually  kind,  Mrs.  Haye  was  unusually 
cold  to  him ;  whenever  she  saw  her  daughter  talking  to 
him,  under  some  pretext  or  other  she  interrupted  the  con- 
versation. She  tried  to  patronize  him,  but  all  efforts  at 
patronage  recoiled  upon  herself.  There  are  some  men  who 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAX.  253 

never  will  be  patronized,  and  he  was  one ;  his  natural 
pride  and  dignity  of  character  quite  prevented  it. 

The  evening  was  a   very  pleasant,  one.     Lady  Clic\ 
was  a  charming  hostess  ,  she  neglected  no  one.   She  had  the 
rare  gift  of  making  ^very  one  feel  perfectly  at    home,  and 
<>ach  one  separately  seemed  to  lie  her   most    favored   i 
Felix  could  not  help  contrasting  tha4    visit    with    his    last, 
when    she    had    suffered  such  tortures  of  anxiety  and    hu- 
miliation.    He  CQ-  id  not  help  thinking  of  the  unhappy  man 
who  had  died  so  young,      victim  to  his  own  folly  -the  man 
who  had  once  been  master  of  all  this  wealth  and  had  made 
bad  use  of  it. 

It  was  a  pleasant  ev.-iimg.     If  Felix  had  been  more  vain 
he  must  have          with  what  great  respecl  and  eon-: 
tion  he  was  tr  a"    d  —  ho  :  Lady  ( 'hevenix   deferred   te   him 
on  every  point — how  she  consulted  his  tastes,  his  \\: 
his  convenience.      if  he  had  been  more  vain  he  would 
been  more  flattered  by  it — he  would  have  seen  it.      (!ut  he 
did  not.     The  chief  thing  that  struck  him  was  the  col 
and  reserve  of  Mrs.  Have. 

During  the  next  f   w  days  father   and   son    worked   hard; 
-  early  and  did  not  leave  work  until    it    was    time 
to  prepare  for  dinner.     Darcy  Loiisdale  declared  that  Lady 
Chevenix    would   .  poil   him.     She  devoted    i 
>ly  to  their  comfort  ;  she  studied  them. 

At  the  end    of    the  t bird  .lay  there   yet  remained  tin 
four  hours'  hard  work. 

"We  must  go      -morrow,"  said  Darcy:   "we   m 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  let  what  will  ha].; 

Felix  decided  to  go  back  to  his  writing  immediai 
dinner,  and  not  to  pause  again  until  he  had  fini- 

ihe    only  plan.      Lady  ( 'lievemx    smiled    thoughtfully 
when  she  heard  it. 

-It   will  he  best,  "Twill  - 

,1  cheerful  lire  and  refreshment 
to  work  so  hard  over  my  atl'a; 

So.  when  the  dinner  was  ended  Felix  v 
library  and    began    to    write.     Lady  <  !h< 
cuj.  of  her  favorite    cafe    imir.      Later  01 
in  a  refreshment-tray,  which  waa  place,!  .,n 
him.     11.-  heard  the  s,.imd  of  music  and  ' 
night  drew  on.  ceased.    \]}<  fathi 
night"  to  him,  and  then  silence  fell  u\  er  the  house. 


254  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

THE  TEST. 

As  Felix  Lonsdale  wrote  busily,  there  came  to  him  the 
memory  of  a  story  he  had  read  in  which  a  lawyer  like  him- 
self sat  alone  in  the  library  of  a  country-house,  and  the 
spirit  of  its  dead  owner  came  to  tell  him  of  some  wrong 
that  he  had  done  in  life. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  thought !"  smiled  Felix  to  himself,  and 
then  he  was  startled  for  a  moment.  A  faint  odor  of  vio- 
lets floated  near  him,  and,  looking  up,  he  saw  Lady  Cheve- 
nix. 

She  was  standing  by  his  side,  looking  down  on  him  with 
a  light  on  her  face  that  had  not  shone  there  for  long  years. 
Never  had  this  beautiful  woman  looked  more  beautiful 
than  now,  with  her  charming  head  bent  over  him,  stand- 
ing in  the  half  darkened  room  like  a  vision  of  light.  The 
crimson  glow  of  the  fire  and  the  soft  radiance  from  the 
lamp  on  the  table  fell  over  her.  She  wore  a  very  hand- 
some dress,  which  showed  her  lovely  shoulders,  her  white 
neck  and  rounded  arms — a  dress  that  in  the  ruddy  firelight 
presented  most' marvelous  hues.  With  it  she  wore  a  dia- 
mond necklace,  and  diamond  stars  shone  in  the  golden  hair. 

There  was  something  more  than  beauty  in  her  face  ;  he 
knew  it  the  moment  he  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  her.  There 
was  love — love  such  as  had  not  shone  there  since  she  had 
bidden  him  farewell.  The  firelight  gleamed  on  her  jeweled 
hand,  on  her  marvelous  face,  her  golden  hair.  She  stood 
before  him  in  all  the  pride  and  magnificence  of  her  wealth 
and  her  loveliness,  a  vision  such  as  rarely  greets  the  eyes 
of  men.  And,  as  he  looked  at  her,  with  somewhat  of  won- 
der and  inquiry  on  his  face,  she  sank  slowly  on  to  her 
knees,  and  bent  her  head  before  him. 

"Lady  Chevenix,"  he  cried,  "you  must  not  do  that  I  I 
cannot  allow  it !" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm — the  hand  on  which  shone 
her  wedding-ring. 

"Listen  to  me,  Felix,"  she  said,  and  the  sweet  voice 
stirred  unwontedly  his  heart  and  soul.  "  I  have  waited 
impatiently  for  this  hour.  You  are  going  away  to-morrow, 
and  I  must  speak  to  you  to-night.  Marian  is  in  the  ante- 
room there ;  I  brought  her  with  me.  I  told  her  I  must 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOXAN.  255 

speak  to  you  to-night,  and  she  came  at  once.    Felix,  will 

you  listen?" 

"  How  can  I  help  but  listen  ?"  he  replied.  "  What  do  you 
wish  to  say  to  me,  Lady  Chevenix  ?" 

With  a  charming  gesture  of  impatience  she  laid  a  finger 
on  his  lips. 

"  You  must  not  call  me  'Lady  Chevenix,'  "  she  said.  "  I 
am  'Violet'  to  you.  Say  'Violet,'  and  then  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  came  for." 

haps,  if  he  had  had  time  to  prepare  himself,  to  think 

matters  over,  to  take   some   precautions,   lie   would   have 

known  better  how  to  listen,  and  wli  was, 

iddenly  to  have  token  possession  of  him,  of 

his  whole  nature. 

11  You  make  me  say  what  you  will,  Violet,"  he  B 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  laid  them  upon  his  . 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  story,  Fein 
your  attention  while  I  narrate  it,     Ni 
girl_young,  foolish,  and,  the   world   said,   t 
vain,  too,  of  her  beauty,   and  ex]« 
things  with  it.     She  loved  with  all  her  h 
was  more  than  worthy  of   her  love,  and  she  promised  t"  be 
his  wife.     But  sorrow  and  misfortune  earn-'   to   him,  wink 

i  Ithy  wooer  sought  her—  one  who  offered   h- 
and  title,  houses  and  lands-and  she—  well, 
of  her,  Felix.     She   was  vain,  and  much   weal 
woman;  she  was  young,  too,  and  not  <•<. 
nobility  enough,  however,  to  see  what 
not  to  do  it.     She  was  tempted   by  her  love   ..t    1< 
comfort—  She  was  badly  ad  vised,  wrongly  mllu. 

weaker,  I  say  again,  fchanawomai  pher 

—the  one  man  in  the  world  whom  she  loved—  and    mar 

the  wealthy  suitor.     How  she   suffered   no  one  * 

one  can  tell.     Her  marriage  turned  out  to  t 

trous  one.     She  had  money,  luxury 

never  had  one  moment  of  happiness—  01 

of  rest.     She  had  outward  l.rillian,. 

life  was  one  round  of  lamentation  and  anx... 

one  knew  what  she  suff.  OI!V  *!";) 

sf 


of   humiliat 

. 

free.     What  do  you  tinuit 


she  did,  Felix  «" 


256  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  cannot  say,"  he  replied,  in  a  low,  hoarse  voice. 

"  I  will  tell  you.  After  those  long  years  she  found  that 
she  still  loved  the  dear  companion  of  her  youth.  She  said 
to  herself  that  he  had  never  married — perhaps  he  still 
cared  for  her— and  one  night,  when  he  was  sitting  alone, 
she  went  to  him — as  I  have  come  to  you — knelt  by  his  side 
— as  I  kneel  by  yours — and  prayed  to  him — as  I  pray  to 
you — 'Oh,  my  lost  love,  my  dear  love,  forgive  me,  and 
take  me  to  your  heart  again !'  "  And-  the  lovely  head 
drooped  until  it  lay  upon  his  arm. 

He  made  no  answer  just  then.  His  whole  soul  was  stirred 
within  him — his  whole  heart  touched.  After  a  few  minutes 
she  raised  her  face  to  his,  and  he  saw  tears  upon  it. 

"Violet,"  he  said,  "I  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  you. 
You  have  taken  me  so  completely  by  surprise.  I  am  lost 
— bewildered.  I  cannot  collect  myself." 

"I  thought  you  would  say  'Yes'  to  me  at  once,"  she  re 
turned,  sadly.  "  Oh,  Felix,  have  you  not  forgiven  me  ?  Tell 
me  that  first.     Have  you  forgiven  me  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully,  watching  the  firelight 
gleaming  on  her  golden  hair  and  on  her  rich  jewels. 

"  Yes,  I  have  forgiven  you,  Violet — I  forgave  you  long 
ago." 

"  Quite,  or  was  it  only  a  half  forgiveness,  Felix  ?" 

"  Quite, "  he  replied.  "  I  am  sure  of  it.  My  heart  was 
full  of  hot  anger  for  many  long  months,  but  it  died  away, 
and  then,  when  I  saw  that  you  were  not  happy,  I  forgave 
you." 

"  With  all  your  heart,  Felix  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart, "  he  answered,  and  then  there  was 
silence  for  a  few  minutes  between  them. 

"  You  forgave  me  ?  Then,  Felix,  why  will  you  not  take 
me  into  your  heart  again  ?" 

His  face  grew  deadly  pale — his  hands  trembled.  She  saw 
such  deep  emotion  in  his  face  that  her  own  grew  pale. 

"  You  see  but  one  side  of  the  question, "  he  said.  "  Now 
listen  to  me.  I  loved  a  girl,  Violet — ah,  Heaven,  how  I 
loved  her !  She  was  the  very  light  of  my  eyes !  She- 
was  the  pulse  of  my  heart  1  She  was  the  very  soul  of 
my  life — my  one  priceless  jewel !  She  loved  me — her 
fair  face  brightened  for  me — her  sweet  eyes  rained  love 
and  kindness  on  me— her  voice  made  all  my  music  !  I 
had  no  life  outside  her  sweet  life  !  Heaven  forgive  me,  I 
worshiped  her — no  man  ever  worshiped  a  woman  so  madly, 
so  blindly,  or  so  well.  If  at  any  time  my  poor  life  would 
have  served  her,  I  would  have  given  it.  Jf  at  any  time  I 


WEAKER  THAN  A   WO  MAX  257 

could  have  died  for  her,  I  would  have  died.     Ai 

kind  to  me.     It  drives  me  mad  even  now.  when   I  n 

ber   that   she   once  placed    her   arms  around  my 

promised  to  be  my  wife.     Then  over  the  heaven  of  m\ 

tent  what  clouds  came  I    1  was  working -as  m 

works — to  make  a  home  for  my  darling.  and   place   her  in 

it.     I  was  seeking  every  picture,  every  ornament  tl 

thought  would  beautify  a  home,  for  one  who  would  h- 

adorn  it  most.      What  happened  '.     A  wealthier  1. 

— not,  mind  you,  one  who  loved  her  m..  vliorn 

she  could   love — a   man,  to  say  the  best  of   him.  • 

soul  and  hard  of  heart ;  he  could  not  even  .  •  the 

exquisite  loveliness  of  my  love.     He  held  out  his  hands  to 

her,  and   they  were   filled  with   gold;  he  offered  her 

money,  jewels— everything  that  women  love.     1! 

to  scorn  the  notion  that  any  tie  to  me  bound   her.     '] 

him,'    he   said— 'he   is   poor.       Come  to   me — I    am   rich.' 

What  did  she  do,  this  love  of  mine,  who  held  my  heart  iu 

her  hami 

The  beautiful  head  drooped  lower  and  low. 
"Have  pity  on  me,  Felix."  she  cried,  "have  pi" 
"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  hard ;  lam  onlyteli;:  -nth. 

That  is  my  version  of  the  story,  Violet.     "\Vhat  did  si 
Did  the  first  noble  instincts  of  true  \v  her  ? 

Did  she  turn  with  fidelity  to  me?     No.     She    ilun-  my  love 

in  my  face,  she   trampled  my  life  under  her 
she  crushed    my  heart  in  her   hand  — she   jilted    ; 
do    not   shrink   &Om  the  word,  Violet;   it  is   the   onl\ 
She  jilted  me— left  me  to  be  the  subject    of   n 
and  'women's    jeers— left  me  to  a  burning   f'r 
that  nothing  could  slacken  or  cool— left  me  with  my  hfo 
ruined.'1 

Again  she  raised  her  hands  to  him,  and  r-r 
"  Ifave  pity  on  me  !     You  are  terribly  hard." 
"Nay,  I  am  but  just,  Violet,     And  thru  this  w. 
had  left  me  to  laughter  and  ruin  came  t 
that  women  can  be  so  light— came  to  me 

d   me   to  take  her  into  my   heart    a-aiu. 
which  had  been  ox*  e,  was  to 

by  a  smile,  the  torture  to  bo  soothed 

words  :'' 

He  stopped  ;  the  passion  of  his  own  wor 
"You   said   you   had   forgiven   mi  '  ^" 

hands  touched  his  clustering  hair. 

"Yes,  I  have  forgiven   yon.     List.  Violel 

came  to  me  again,  this  woman  who  had  betrayed  mo,  * 


256  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

the  dead  man's  spoils  in  her  hand.  She  came  to  me  bright 
with  jewels,  radiant  with  the  magnificence  his  wealth  had 
provided  for  her — the  wealth  for  which  she  left  me.  She 
held  out  her  hands  to  me  laden  with  his  treasures ;  she 
brought  to  me  the  spoils  her  perfidy  and  falsehood  had  won 
for  her.  I  should  be  less  than  a  man  if  I  shared  those  spoils 
wth  her — should  I  not,  Violet  ?  When  you  left  me,  and  men 
laughed  because  you  had  left 'me  for  money,  my  very 
sorrow  had  a  dignity  in  it.  What  should  I  be  now,  even  in 
your  eyes,  if  I  took  you  back  to  my  heart  with  the  same 
money  that  your  falsehood  had  won  ?  I  should  be  less 
than  a  man. " 

"I  cannot  understand  you,"  she  said,  piteously. 

In  his  passion  he  seemed  to  rise  to  a  height  which  that 
weak  soul  could  not  reach,  but  the  pitiful,  pleading  voice 
touched  him  and  made  him  gentle  again.  He  looked  down 
into  the  lovely  face. 

"Violet,  you  will  uncorstand  this.  Suppose  that  when 
you  loved  me  most  I  had  lett  you  and  had  married  a  rich 
woman — a  woman  whom  I  did  not  love,  but  married  solely 
because  she  was  rich — that  she  died  after  a  few  years,  and 
I  came  back  to  you  with  her  money  in  my  hands,  and 
asked  you  to  share  it — would  you  do  so  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  should,  Felix." 

"  Perhaps  I  might  have  expected  such  an  answer  from 
you.  I  would  not  act  in  such  a  fashion.  I  should  be  less 
than  a  man  now  to  take  dead  Sir  Owen's  gold,  and  with  it 
you. " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  half  bewildered  air,  yet  still 
seemed  to  think  that  she  could  persuade  and  soften  him  by 
sweet  words. 

"I  have  been  so  unhappy  without  you,  Felix,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  You  do  not  know  all ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  I 
had  lost  the  half  of  my  soul  when  I  lost  you — it  is  not 
wrong  to  say  so  to  you  now.  I  was  very  unhappy,  Felix. 
I  found  out  soon  afterward  that  I  could  never  be  happy 
without  you." 

He  made  no  answer,  and  she  took  courage.  She  laid  her 
face  on  his  arm.  The  waves  of  golden  hair  fell  over  his 
hands. 

"Do  forgive  me,  Felix,"  she  said.  "I  was  so  young,  and 
so  thoughtless.  I  did  not  understand. " 

So  she  knelt,  while  the  firelight  played  over  her,  and  the 
face  of  Felix  Lonsdale  was  turned  from  her. 

"I  am  sorry  for  it  all,  Felix,"  the  sweet  voice  went  on — 
M  so  very  sorry.  You  see,  dear,  there  were  great  excuses 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  259 

for  me,  though  they  do  not  seem  great  to  you.  I  was  very 
vain — every  one  flattered  me  and  praised  me,  and  I  \\a's 
led  away.  I  thought  my  boauty  was  great  enough  to  merit 
any  station.  Then,  Felix,  I  was  so  young — oh,  my  dear, 
forgive  me,  I  was  so  young — and  foolish  !  I  have  repented 
of  it  ever  since.  I  love  you  now  just  as  much  as  when 
we  stood  in  the  moonlight  together." 

He  raised  her  face  and  looked  into  it.  It  was  beautiful 
enough  to  tempt  any  man  to  forego  honor.  He  looked  into 
the  depths  of  the  violet  eyes. 

"You  are  sorry  for  it,  Violet,"  he  said — "really  and  truly 
sorry  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am,  indeed,  Felix,"  and  her  hands  wen-  clasped 
around  his  own.  "I  am,  dear — my  life  has  been  all  re-ret." 

"  Answer  me  truly — if  the  time  came  over  ugain,  would 
you  act  in  the  same  manner?" 

The  soft  eyes  wavered  half  a  moment.,  and  then  fell. 

"I   cannot   tell;  it   cannot  come  over  again.     That  is   a 

strange  question.    Answer  me  one— truly,  Felix.     Do  you 

love  me  '." 

She  saw  the  sudden  gleam  of  passion  light  in  his 
and  deepen  in  his  e; 

"Do  I  love  you?  Yes.  Heaven  help  mo,  I  do  !  If  I  did 
not  love  you,  I  should  not  suffer." 

"You  are  <|iiife  sure  that  you  have  not  met  any  one  sineo 
Whom  you  liked  even  ever  so  little,  Felix  .'" 

"No,"  he  answered;  -when  a.  man  has  loved  a  w.. man 
like  you,  Vinlet,  it  is  not  easy  to  forget  her." 

"Then,  Felix,  if  you  love  me  and  1  love  you,  why  should 
we  not  be  happy?  What  stands  between 

"My  own  honor,"  he  replied  -  "my  dignity  as  a  man,  my 
pride  as  a  gentleman.  If  you  were  penniless,  Yjol.-t.  I 
would  kneel  to  you,  1  vow,  and  pray  you  to  be  my  \\ 

"What  stands  between  us.  Felix  <"  she  asked  a-ain. 

"Your  dead  husband's  gold  the  g..ld  for  which  you 
broke  your  plighted  troth  and  left  me.  V-  :"let, 

that  you  were  young  and  thoughtless  when  you  sinned, 
that  you  hardly  n-ali/ed  all  you  were  doing.  1  believe 
that.  Suppose  now  1  belie\ed  in  you,  and  airain  let  myself 
drift  upon  the  golden  sea  of  hope  and  love.  S-me  wealthier 
suitor  might  come— an  earl  this  time  and  you  would  leavo 
me  once  more. " 

"No,  never  again,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him—   i 
again !" 

His  face  softened  into  deepest  tenderness  as  ne  looked  a* 


2GO  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

her.    The  old  love  so  long  trampled  down  and  repressed 
seemed  to  leap  into  new  and  vigorous  life. 

"  Never  again  !"  she  repeated.  "  I  love  you — and  I  would 
be  true  to  you  !" 

"Then  give  me  a  proof.  I  hate  this  wealth  for  which 
you  forsook  me  !  I  hate  this  splendor  and  magnificence 
for  which  you  bartered  your  truth  and  fidelity.  I  will 
never  benefit  by  them.  They  robbed  me  of  you,  the}-  de- 
stroyed the  best  part  of  my  life — I  will  have  none  of  them. 
No  man  shall  say  of  me  that  I  profited  by  your  falsehood 
and  enjoyed  the  price  of  your  sin — for  it  was  a  sin,  Violet. 
Listen  to  me,  my  darling.  This  is  what  my  honor  dictates 
— and  my  honor  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  life.  1  love  you, 
and  ask  no  higher  gift  from  Heaven  than  to  call  you  my 
own;  but  you  must  come  to  me  unfettered  with  dead  Sir 
Owen's  wealth — I  will  have  none  of  it.  You  must  gi\  e  up 
your  mansion,  your  jewels,  your  servants — all  the  magnifi 
cence  furnished  by  him.  I  will  provide  a  beautiful  house 
for  you — not  grand  and  stately  like  his,  but  a  home  that 
shall  be  a  heaven  of  love.  You  married  for  money,  Violet 
— money  did  not  bring  you  happiness.  Now  marry  for 
love— that  will." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  bewildered  air. 

"  I  do  not  understand.  Do  you  mean  that  I  am  to  sur- 
render all  the  fortune  my  husband  has  left  me  ?" 

"I  mean  just  that,  Violet;  I  will  never  share  it." 

"But,  Felix,"  she  said,  "that .would  be  absurd,  now  that 
it  is  all  mine  to  do  as  I  like  with.  What  could  I  do  with 
it?" 

"Build  hospitals,  churches — anything  you  like  except 
keep  it." 

She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  that  is  very  hard  ?"  she  said. 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  to  share  it,  to  benefit  by  it,  would  seem  to 
me  like  sharing  a  sin.  There  is  the  true  test  of  love, 
Violet.  I  forgive  with  all  my  heart  the  fault  that  you  say 
was  committed  in  the  thoughtlessness  of  youth — now  I 
give  you  the  chance  of  redeeming  it.  Give  up  the  wealth 
that  tempted  you  to  do  me  wrong,  and  I  will  bless  the 
day  that  brings  you  to  me  again.1' 

He  looked  at  the  diamond  necklace  she  wore  ;  unclasping 
it,  he  laid  it  upon  the  table. 

"Your  neck  is  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful,"  he 
said,  "  without  that  circlet.  Can  you  give  up  all  such  deck- 
ings, Violet?" 

"It  is  such  a  thing  to  ask  me,"  she  said. 


THAN  A  wox.\\: 

"It  is  a  true  test  of  love.     You  had  i 
fore  between  me  and  money— then  you  chose -mom         ; 
place  the  two  before  you  again— which  will  you  <•! 

You  can  not  plead  youth,  or  i-norance,  or  vanii. 
undue  influence  now.      You  have  learned  many  i'; 
I  s;iy    this  is  a  true  test  of  love.     l!ut.  Violet,  'it  is  no; 
to  ask  you  to  decide  hurriedly— take  time  over  it     It  is 
much  to  ask.  I  know;  but  I  otl'er  something  better  in    re- 
turn— and  you  sliall  never  ren-'iit  the  sacrifi- 

"All  the  world  would  laugh  ;it  me,"  she  said. 

"The  world  would  say  you  had  ^iven  up  all  for  love.   lint. 
Violet,  mind,  1    do  not  wish  to  persuade  you.      1  leave  the 
decision  to  yourself.      For  the  second  time  in  your  li! 
have  to  Choose  between    love    a.ud    money.      Ponder  i! 
tell  me  in  a  few  days  what  you  have  decided  upon.'1 

She  looked  up  at  him  wistfully. 

"Is  that  your  final  decision.  Felix  '."  she  a>ked. 

"Yes;  I  cannot  change  it.  Violet.     .Most    men    mak> 
idol  of  something ;  my  idol  is  self  respect,"  he  replied. 

"Could  you  not  make  an  idol  of  me  :"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  if  you  are  not  framed  in  a  golden  setting."  he  an- 
swered. 

She  was  silent  then  for  a  few  minutes,  while  the  firelight 
played  over  her  golden  hair,  and  he  drew  the  loiitf  shining 

Bfl  through  his  fi Hirers.    Slu-  laid  her  head  on  his  I  : 
and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Let    me   rest   here  for  a  few   minutes,"  she   said  ;  ' 
only  have  I  ever  found  rest  on  earth." 

'    When   she   raised   her   eyea    to    his  they  were   wet  with 
tears. 

"   Felix,"  she  said,  "I  miM  ^o  now  ;  it   is  growing  1 
Will  you  kiss  me  before  I  go?" 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  the  lovely  face  — not  once,  but 
many  times.  Then  she  arose  to  <|iu't  the  room,  lie  remem- 
bered long  afterward  how  she  kept  her  eyes  tixed  <m  his 
face  until  she  reached  the  door. 

"Good-by,    Felix,"  she    said,    and  tin-    very  tone    •»-, 
voice  was  like  a  si^h. 

He   had    kept   himself  outwardly  very  calm  during   the- 
interview.      Violet    did  not    know   what  a  terrihl' 
was  raffing  within  him.      He    threw    aside  paper   and 
when  the  door  was  (dosed. 

•  1  can  write  no  more."  he  9aid. 

His  heart  bent  fast  and  his  brain  * 
every  pulse  throbbed  wildly,  every  nerve  was  stra: 


262  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  must  go  out  into  the  air,"  he  told  himself;  "these 
walls  are  stifling  me," 

He  went  out  through  the  window,  and  he  spent  the 
night;  as  he  had  spent  many  another,  in  walking  rapidly, 
so  that  he  might  beat  down  the  temptation  that  was  come 
to  him. 

For  it  was  a  temptation.  So  loving  and  so  lovely,  so 
gracious  and  fair,  was  Violet  that  he  could  have  clasped 
her  to  his  breast,  and  have  cried  out  in  rapture  that  she 
was  his.  But  honor  stood  between  them.  He  would  never 
accept  the  dead  man's  gold. 

In  the  morning  he  did  not  see  Violet  at  the  early  break- 
fast. Miss  Hethcote  came  down  and  made  tea.  Lady 
Chevenix  had  sent  her,  she  said.  She  did  not  seem  quite 
well.  Miss  Hethcote  looked  inquiringly  at  Felix,  as  though 
she  would  fain  ask  what  had  passed  between  them,  but  no 
word  was  spoken,  and  Darcy  Lonsdale  left  Garswood  quite, 
unconscious  that  it  had  been  offered  to  his  son. 

The  next  two  days  were  days  of  torture  to  Felix.  How  he 
passed  them  he  never  knew.  On  the  third  came  a  letter  in 
the  well-known  handwriting,  with  the  faint  familiar  odor 
of  violets.  He  knew  it  was  Violet's  answer ;  and,  though 
he  was  a  strong,  brave  man,  he  trembled  to  open  it. 
Within  that  folded  paper  lay  the  words  that  might  affect 
the  whole  of  his  future  life.  Either  Violet  had  written  to 
say  that  for  his  sake  she  would  give  up  wealth,  luxury, 
and  magnificence,  or  she  had  decided  on  giving  him  up  to 
retain  that  to  which  perhaps  her  heart  clung. 

"It  was  the  only  test,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  letter  in 
his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A     QUIET     WEDDING. 

This  was  Violet's  response  to  Felix  Lonsdale's  request 
about  dead  Sir  Owen's  wealth : 

"MY  DEAR  FELIX: — I  have  thought  well  over  the  matter  recently 
discussed  by  us,  and  I  have  decided.  I  know  that  I  am  weaker  than 
a  woman — but  I  cannot  give  up  my  fortune.  It  seems  to  me  such  a 
foolish  thing  to  do.  After  being  accustomed  to  every  luxury,  I  could 
not  give  it  up.  I  love  you,  and  shall  always  love  you  ;  but  the  test 
was  too  hard.  I  have  pictured  myself  back  in  the  old  scenes,  leading 
the  old  life,  and  I  could  not  undergo  it.  I  would  most  cheerfully 
share  all  I  have  with  yon,  but  1  cannot  give  it  up  for  you — do  you 
think  it  was  quite  right  to  ask  me  ? 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"I  do  not  suppose  I  shall  ever  be  htxppy    br.t  yon  will.     I  a! 
noble  enon"h  for  yon;  and,  if  you  had  married  in-  y,,nr  dissij 
ment  would  have  been  •^•••at.     Von  will  uu-  I 


me  . 

whom   vou  will   love   and  marry.     I  kn«" 

now,  I  say  it  forever  ;  but  former  I  shall  U  ,y  >ur  unhappy,    N  io 

He  laid  the  letter  down  and  look.-l  at  it.     1  ! 
expected   such   an   uuswi-r,    yet    hi<   disappoint 
great   and   his  eyes   tilled   with  trars.     It   had   1 

i  and  very  dear  to  him,  this   i>tv<-i«>us  ! 
the  end  \vas  sorrow  :   still  he  i-'.uM  n-.t  »«•  siirpr 

•h,)sen    that    which  si: 
"and  I  cannot  blame  her  now.     In.  el  her. 

He  did  it  bravely,  as  he  had   done  it  1" 
his   whole  heart  into  his   work,  and    fought  in 
with  the  great  master-passion  tof  his 

For  some  time  after  that  it  was  rumored^in  Lil 
Ladv  Chevenix  was  n-.t  well  ;  that  she  had 
and'h.-r  spirits;  that  she   was  ill  an^saw  r,.,,,,,.      Hi, 
mite  suddenly  she  sent  for  Darcy  Lonsd 
^rsSh^wme  to  the  conclusion  thai 
w^od  did  not  suit  her  ;1tot  for  the  fut  m,;, 

divide  her  time  between  London  and   1 
Pri<«>  she  added  that  the  Marqu 

t.   imvtheCJarsw,,,,,!.  -   that    *e  thought  of  s^- 

i,U  them   to   him;  hut    it    would  b  '  ** 

he  retained  Darcy  Lonsdale  as  his  aj       . 

Alter  son,,   months,  during  which  T^wlj       p    '' 

i 

six  ,,,o,,ths  «-,.,-..  over,  the  DM. 

rfie  would  probably  b 

Un-v  occupante  of  • 

with  his  twora 
svants^av,  more 
than  th,  wealthy^ 


264  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

growing  old,  and  did  not  go  so  often  to  the  office.  The 
"small  army"  were  rapidly  growing  up.  Everything  was 
prosperous  and  happy  where  so  many  trials  had  once 
seemed  to  threaten  general  destruction.  Kate  was  one  of 
the  leading  ladies  now  in  Lilford — and  very  much  enjoyed 
the  position.  Time  had  softened  Miss  Lester,  while  Eve 
had  grown  more  beautiful  and  spirit  wile. 

Felix  worked  on  steadily.  He  still  made  his  home  with 
his  father,  but  Katie,  in  speaking  of  him,  said,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  that  some  day  Providence  would  reward  him 
for  his  goodness  to  them,  and  that  he  would  find  a  wife 
worthy  to  be  his  partner  for  life. 

He  went  to  see  Evelyn  when  he  had  an  hour  to  spare ; 
they  were  the  best  of  friends.  Years  afterward  he  saw  how 
she  had  guided  him  without  ever  seeming  to  advise — how 
she  had  influenced  him  without  ever  seeming  to  use  her 
influence  ;  and  when  he  began  the  great  battle  of  political 
life  she  was  his  right  hand. 

The  time  that  had  been  foreseen  and  prophesied  had  ar 
rived.  The  borough  of  Ord stone  was  vacant,  and  through 
the  interest  of  Lord  Arlington,  Felix  had  been  returned. 

It  Avas  no  surprise,  for  every  one  had  prophesied  it 
Genius  must  and  will  make  its  way  to  the  front  when  it  it 
allied  with  perseverance  and  industry;  genius  alone  does 
\ittle. 

"M.  P.  for  Ordstone."  Felix  Lonsdale  was  pleased — he 
exulted  as  men  exult.  He  had  now  a  foremost  place — he 
had  made  a  name.  Like  all  other  men  worthy  of  anything,, 
he  was  ambitious ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  ambition 
would  be  realized. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  of  his  election  it  was  some 
relief  to  him  to  escape  from  the  noise  of  the  crowd,  and 
spend  a  quiet  hour  with  Evelyn.  How  she  rejoiced  with 
him!  How  she  exulted  in  his  success!  How  wise  and 
sweet  she  was  in  her  counsel !  It  seemed. to  him  as  though 
his  soul  had  found  one  more  than  a  friend. 

' '  My  foot  is  011  the  first  step  of  the  ladder.  Eve,  how 
high  shall  I  climb,  do  you  think  ?" 

He  never  forgot  the  beautiful,  earnest  look  on  her  fair 
f;tc"  as  she  answered  : 

"As  high  as  heaven,  I  hope." 

Anil  those  tew  words,  spoken  by  the  tender  lips  of  a  noble 
wonrvTi,  were  to  him  like  an  eloquent  sermon.  From  that 
hour  iiis  Hie  seemed  to  have  higher  and  better  aims,  and 
into  it  came  no  dreftm  of  woman's  love,  until  one  day, 


WEAKER  THAN  A   H'OUA.V.  265 

Kate,  having  some  leisure,  hud  a  long  conversation  with 
llilil. 

"Can  you   understand   an  allegory,    Felix?"  she  a 

him. 

'"Yes,  I  think  so,"  he  replied.     "Try  me,  IIHK' 

"Then-  was  once  a  man,"  began  Kate,  "who  stood  with 

h;s   feet  firmly  planted  upon  the  earth,  and  his  • 
I    looking    up    nt    the    clouds.     At  his   le-i    : 


i    of   priceless   v;iiue.  and   at  a  disl. 
Mess    piece    of    shining:   jrlass.     This    man  of  \\  hon'i    I 
1  upon  the  pearl  until  it  \vas  almost,  hidden  in  tho 
dust,  while  he    went   eagerly  in  search  of   tliel.it   of   . 
i>o  you  understand.  Felix  '."  she  asked,  afler  a  lew  minutes. 

"Only    VI  icly,  ninth-''.      1   am    the   man.      In 

nize  the  bit  of  shining  glass,  but  not  the  pearl." 

"Not  the  pearl  !"  repeated  Kate.  "Well,  that  [.rove.-  what 
I  have  often  thought,  that,  while  men  ma\  he  clever  and 
keen  and  intellectual,  they  may,  at  the  sa;;,e  time,  he  hlind 
as  hats.  That  pearl  has  hem  under  y«ur  eyes  tor  many 
yeai-s.  Ah,  1  see  you  do  not  understand  :'' 

Nor  did  he.      Kate  went  on  talking  to  him. 

"Von    will  he  a.  man  of    mark,  Felix     everyone 
But  you  will  he  like  all  other  men  :   \oiiwill    want    a 
wife.      If    Hie  facts  could  he  trot  at,  it  would    he  found    that 
some   of    the   greatest,   men    of    the    day  owe  much   of    their 
fame  to  the  wise  jr.uida.nce  of  a  wise  wile." 

"I  believe  that."  he  replied,  "hut      ah,  well,  we    : 

:i>out  it,   intnlrr.       1  suppose  a.  li  •Ul-'d    lor 

him." 

"A  man's  fate  is  just  what,  he  likes  to  make  it."  dec! 
"When    you    are    inclined    to  marry,    never    • 
heauty  ;   look  out  lor  a  nohle  \\oman      nohility  of   chai 
is  far  hetter  than  heauty." 

The  words  struck  hini  as  hein-  hut  the  r;-;  etition  of  • 
words  written  to  him. 

"The    world    is    full   of    nrhle   women.  ntinued. 

"Look  at  i  Wli;  re  would  you  find  mi- 

more   gracious,    or   nohle.'     She  is  t  rue  and  tender  ami 

she    has    a.    fund  of    clear  common 
vivid,    hri-ht    imagination,  a   quick. 

as  for    heauty,  1  see  more  in   h'-i  ''    in 

any  face  I  have  ever  seen/1 

"Eve  Lester!"  he  cried.      "Certainly  no  woman    eou. 
nobler.      Oh,   ///<"//••'.   issiiethe    |. 

"Yes;  you  most  blind,  most   dear.  'use   of 


266  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN, 

boys !  She  is  the  pearl,  and  you  never  saw  her  in  your 
hurry  to  pick  up  the  worthless  shining  colored  glass. " 

Eve  Lester.  How  blind  he  had  been  1  He  looked  up  at 
Kate. 

"Do  you  know,  madre,"  he  said,  "she  has  been  so  much 
part  of  my  life — all  my  life — that  I  have  never  thought  of 
her  apart  from  myself. " 

A  wise  woman  alwrays  knows  when  she  has  said  enough. 
Kate  turned  the  conversation  ;  nor  could  he  persuade  her 
to  say  more  about  Eve.  But  the  idea  had  taken  hold  of 
him,  and  Kate  smiled  softly  to  herself  on  seeing  how 
deeply  he  was  engrossed  in  thought  during  the  remainder 
of  that  evening. 

Felix  had  never  realized  until  then  what  Eve  was  to  him. 
He  went  back  over  all  his  life.  She  had  been  his  adviser, 
his  counselor,  his  friend.  She  had  aroused  all  noble 
thoughts  in  him,  all  great  desires.  She  had  fired  his  ambi- 
tion ;  she  had  shown  him  his  road  in  life.  He  had  never 
dreamed  how  much  he  owed  to  her  influence  until  he 
thought  all  this  over. 

He  remembered  how,  in  the  darkest  hour  of  his  father's 
life,  when  earth  was  all  cold,  and  the  heavens  seemed 
made  of  brass,  she  came  to  his  house  like  an  angel  of  light 
and  consolation.  She  had  offered  him  her  all,  and  was 
honestly  grieved  because  he  would  not  take  it.  As  Felix 
sat  thinking  of  her,  he  recalled  a  thousand  instances  of 
her  swreet  wisdom  and  goodness. 

"It  is  true,"  he  mused  ;  "we  are  sometimes  perfectly  ig- 
norant of  our  greatest  blessings.  I  should  never  have 
known  all  that  Eve  has  been  to  me  until  I  lost  her. " 

Under  this  new  light,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  muse  see 
her,  he  must  go  over  and  talk  to  her,  he  must  discover 
what  she  really  wras  to  him — how  dear,  how  needful— and 
he  would  do  it  at  once ;  there  should  be  no  delay. 

He  went  the  next  day,  and  the  result  of  their  conversa- 
tion was  that  he  did  not  leave  her  until  she  had  promised 
to  be  his  wife  ;  for  he  found  out  that  she  loved  him,  and 
had  loved  him  only  all  her  life — he  found  out  that  he  had 
indeed  been  blind  and  foolish,  for  she  was  really  the  one 
great  treasure  of  his  life. 

The  engagement  afforded  the  greatest  of  pleasure  to  all 
their  friends ;  there  was  not  one  dissentient  voice.  And 
now,  indeed,  Kate  Lonsdale  was  happy. 

"I  shall  be  the  -dowager  Lady  Lonsdale,"  she  said  to 
Eve,  with  a  happy  laugh.  "  There  has  been  only  one  mis- 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  267 

take  from  the  beginning.  Felix  ought  to  have  chosen  you 
from  the  first." 

"It  is  sufficient,"  returned  Eve,  "that  he  has  chosen  me 
now." 

She  asked  him  one  day  : 

"  Why  do  you  always  call  me  'Pearl,'  Felix?  It  is  not 
my  name/' 

"It  is  my  n.-une  for  you,"  he  replied,  "and  I  shall  use  no 
other."  But  he  never  told  her  why  ;  the  past  conversation 
between  Kute  and  himself  remained  a  secret. 

There  could  have  been  no  happier  marriage.  Felix  had 
a  beautiful  house  prepared  for  his  wife — not  the  pretty  cot- 
tage omc  where  his  golden-haired  love  had  stood  and  de- 
cided  that  it  was  not  good  enough  for  her,  but  a  fair  and 
pleasant  mansion,  standing  in  the  midst  of  sunny  grounds 
—  a  home  that  a  princess  might  have  envied  because  of  its 
artistic  beauty  and  bright  aspect. 

It  WHS  a  quiet  wedding,  but  Eve  would  have  it  so.  She 
would  have  neither  carriages  nor  a  train  of  bridesmaids, 
nor  children  stro wing  flowers,  nor  any  of  the  ceremonies 
that  attend  a  country  public  wedding.  She  walked  quietly 
to  the  dear  old  church  at  Li  I  ford,  looking  very  fair  and 
Sweet,  with  the  light  flush  caused  by  the  morning  air  on 
her  face.  The  sunlight  streamed  in  at  the  windows  as  she. 
plighted  her  faith  to  the  only  man  she  had  ever  loved,  and 
whom  she  was  to  love  forever. 

Then  Felix  took  her  away  to  the  Lakes,  and  they  were 
very  happy. 

They  were  sitting  one  day  on  the-  border  of  AVinderinere, 
When  Eve  raised  her  sweet  face  to  her  husband,  and  said  : 

"Felix,  you  love  me  very  much  now  f 

"Yes,  my  pearl— more,  tlia-n  you  know,"  he  replied. 

"Do  you — do  not  be  cross  with  me  because  1  ask  the 
question — do  you  ever  think  of  Violet?" 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  own.  and  kissed  them. 

"Listen,  darling,"  he  said.  "  I  w  1  answer  you  in  other 
words  than  my  own-  sweeter,  indeed,  than  any  words  that 
I  could  say ; 

•"Within  the  kingdom  of  my  soul 

I  hid  you  .ntcr.  l>v<\  to-dny — 
Submit  i'ny  lit"  t<>  y<mr  control, 

And  k'hv  my  heart.  uj>  t"  your  sway. 

"  'Our-  only  thuU'.'ht  part. 

Ami  will  '  remain  • 

There  is  one  chtimbi-r  in  my  heart- 
There  even  you  might  knock  in  vain. 


268  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

"  'A  haunted  chamber,  long  ago 

I  closed  it,  and  I  cast  the  key 
Where  deep  and  bitter  waters  flow 
Into  a  waste  and  silent  sea. 

•"Dear,  it  is  haunted.     All  the  rest 

Is  yours  ;  but  I  have  shut  that  door 
Forever  now.     'Tis  even  best 
That  I  should  enter  it  no  more. 

"  'No  more.     It  is  not  well  to  stay 

With  ghosts,  their  very  look  would  scare 
Your  joyous  loving  smile  away — 
So  never  try  to  enter  there. 

"  'Check,  if  you  love  me,  all  regret 

That  this  one  thought  remains  apart; 
Now  let  us  smile,  dear,  and  1'orgct 
The  haunted  chamber  in  my  heart.'  " 

When  he  had  finished  he  bent  down,  and  kissed  the  fair 
face,  and  Eve,  knowing  the  way  to  his  heart,  said  : 

"I  am  quite  content,  and  I  trust  you." 

And  they  talked  of  other  things,  while  the  sun  shone  over 
the  lake  and  the  birds  sang  their  sweetest. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

DESOLATE      SPLENDOR. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  Felix  took  his  fair  wife  home 
to  Eden  House — he  would  call  it  u  Eden"  because  it  held 
his  Eve — and  Eve  was  now  one  of  the  happiest  women  in 
the  kingdom.  For  in  the  room  where  she  spent  her  morn- 
ings— a  bright  sunny  room  looking  upon  a  beautiful  world 
of  trees  and  flowers — stood  a  little  cot,  and  in  this  cot  slept 
a  baby — Eve's  baby.  He  was,  his  mother  said,  the  loveli- 
est,  the  finest,  the  most  intelligent  in  the  whole  world,  and 
Felix  laughed  as  she  defied  any  one  to  produce  such 
another. 

Felix  wanted  Eve  to  accompany  him  for  the  Parliament 
ary  session.  She  looked  longingly  at  the  baby,  and  then 
longingly  at  him. 

"  How  can  I  possibly  leave  little  Lester  ?"  she  said.  "  Aunt 
Jane  would  take  great  care  of  him,  but  she  says  he  wants 
reforming — and  I  should  not  like  to  have  him  reformed." 

"  Bring  him  with  you,  Pearl,  and  he  can  assist  the  Legis- 
lature of  the  nation,"  replied  Felix,  laughingly. 

And  Eve  was  only  too  pleased  to  comply. 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  209 

No  happier  household  ever  settled  for  a  time  in  the  mod- 
ern Babylon.  Felix  tool*  very  nice  apartments,  where  his 
wife  could  enjoy  London  to  her  hear*'*  content,  Eve  was 
in  one  respect.  Sh"  never  merged  the  wife  in  the 
mother.  She  never  neglected  her  hu  b.»nd  for  her  child. 
She  was  so  discreet  and  wise  in  the  management  of  her 
time  that,  while  she  was  one  of  the  most  devoted  mothers 
in  the  world,  she  was  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most  <!<•- 
voted  wives.  Felix  never  felt,  as  bonie  husbands  do,  that 
he  had  a  rival  in  his  own  child. 

They  went  to  London  when  Parliament  opened,  and  when 
May  <-ame  around  the  great  city  wore  its  fairest  d 

They  sat  ai  breakfast  one  bright  morning,  with  "the  un- 
equaled  baby, '  as  Felix  called  him,  rolling  i  a  thick  rug 
at  their  feet,  when  M  Vtter  was  brought  addressed  to  "Mrs. 
Felix  Lonsdale,  13  L'uper  Park  <  he  placed 

it  in  his  wile's  ban-       Felix  recogni/ed   the  delicate  hand- 
writing, while  he  oinellvd  a  faint  odor  of  violets. 

Kvr  opened   it  quickly,  and   then,  pale  and  breat! 
looked  up  at  her  husband. 

'Listen,  Felix,"  she  said,  after  a  few  seconds,  and  she 

"  My  DEAR  EVE  :— I  should  like  to  see  von  and  I-Ylix  once  more. 
My  husband  is  not  well,  and  the  doc4  ordered  him  t< 

the  south  of  France  or  Italy     we  think  of  ^oin^   to    Florence     audit 
may  lu-  ;\<-ar-  In-fore  I  return.    Let  me  gee  you  both  !••  When 

,   your  name.-;  aiming  the  arrivals,  it  me  that  »  breath 

of  Lilford  air  \i:-.~  ni«'.     You  will  not  refuse  me  t: 

I  shall  ever  ask  of    you?      Call   at   Hok.-ly    House  at   two    o  Vlork    to- 
day.    1  >hall  wait  for  you.     Ever  your  friend,          YIOI.KT  KOKKIA." 

looked  up  again. 

"llokely:'1   she  stiid.      "Why,   Felix,   is  Violet  married 
D  ;" 

"She  married  the  Duke  of  Rokely  three  months  ago,"  re 
plied  Felix.    "I  said  nothing  to  you  about  it.    She  has  mar- 
ried one  of  the  wealthiest  dukes  in  England." 

"She   was  beautiful  enough  for  a  duchess,*  said 
gently. 

"  She  is  not  so  beautiful    in  my  eyes  as  you,  my  i» 
rejoined  Felix,  and  tin-re  was  truth  in  his  voice.      His  wife 
smiled. 

"  What  about  the  haunted  chamber?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  swept  and  garnished,"  he  replied.  She  smiled 
proudly. 

When  I  heard  what  you  said  about  it  I  made  a  resolu- 
tion that  I  would  get  into  the  haunted  chamber,"  she  told 


270  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

him.     "Some  one  said  once  that  blonde  women  were  all 
insipid  and  weak  of  purpose.     It  is  not  true,  is  it,  Felix  ?" 

"No,"  he  replied. 

"  Now, "  said  his  lovely  wife,  "  if  I  looked  into  that  cham- 
ber, what  should  I  see  ?" 

"Your  own  image,"  he  answefed*  and  she  believed  him. 

"We  will  go  and  see  Violet,  Duchess  of  Rokely,"  she 
said,  "  if  you  are  willing.  That  is  not  the  letter  of  a  happy 
woman.'' 

She  understood  why  he  was  so  anxious  about  her  toilet 
— why  he  insisted  that  she  should  wear  the  fashionable 
spring  silk  and  the  pretty  Parisian  bonnet.  He  kissed  her 
when  she  stood  ready  dressed. 

"I  am  so  proud  of  you,  my  darling,"  he  whispered. 

And  those  few  words  brought  a  lovely  flush  to  her  fair 
face  and  made  her  fairer  than  ever ;  then  they  drove  off  to- 
gether to  Rokely  House. 

It  was  one  of  the  finest  ducal  mansions  in  London.  Eve 
was  awe  struck  as  the  great  hall  door  opened  and  she  saAV 
the  liveried  servants  and  the  magnificence  that  might  have 
befitted  the  palace  of  a  king.  Her  Grace,  the  Duchess  of 
Rokely  was  at  home,  and  awaited  them. 

They  went  through  suite  after  suite  of  magnificent  rooms 
until  they  reached  her  grace's  boudoir,  where  she  had 
elected  to  receive  them.  It  was  a  superb  apartment — octa 
gon-shaped  —  the  panels  and  ceiling  most  exquisitely 
painted,  the  hangings  all  of  blue  velvet  and  gold  ;  priceless- 
treasures  of  art  lavishly  scattered  around,  buhl,  marquetry, 
old  china,  rare  pictures,  most  exquisite  statues— orna- 
ments of  gold  and  silver,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  this  mag- 
nificence stood  an  imperially  beautiful  woman,  who  looked 
at  it  all  with  proudly  contemptuous  eyes. 

Violet  had  grown  even  more  beautiful.  Her  superb  figure 
was  more  fully  developed ;  her  fair  face  had  something  in 
it  haughtier  and  colder.  Very  proud  she  looked  as  she 
stood  there,  dressed  in  her  favorite  colors,  blue  and  white 
— a  dress  of  blue  velvet  relieved  by  trimmings  of  white 
silk.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  priceless  fan ;  the  other  white 
and  jeweled  hand  lay  upon  the  table. 

Her  lovely  face  grew  white  even  to  the  lips  as  Eve  and 
Felix  entered  the  gorgeous  room,  but  she  advanced  to  meet 
them ;  she  took  Eve's  hands  in  her  own,  and  looked  at 
Felix. 

w  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  It  was  kind  of  you  to  come.  J 
longed  to  see  you  both  before  I  went  away.  Sit  down  and 


WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN.  271 

talk  to  me — tell  me  all  about  Lilford.     I  shall  never  see  it 
again." 

Very  soon  Eve  had  told  her  all  she  knew,  and  then,  as 
Lilford  -to  her— meant  the  baby,  she  entered  into  a  de- 
scription of  his  charms.  Was  she  mistaken,  or  did  she 
really  see  tears  shining  in  the  proud  eyes  '. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  a  little  son,  Felix.  I  ho; 
will  grow  up  like  you,  as  good,  as  true,  and  as  noble." 
Then  Violet's  fare  flushed,  and  she  bent,  her  proud  charm- 
ing head  before  them.  "I  may  never  see  you  again, 
said;  "let  me  say  out  to  you  all  the  thoughts  that  are  in 
my  heart.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  married.  I  am  glad, 
i. hat  Felix  has  found  comfort  in  your  love  ;  love  him 
always,  love  him  truly,  love  him  well;  and — oh,  believe 
me,  Kve  !--if  you  have  little  daughters,  teach  them  that  life 
holds  no  treasure  like  love,  that  wealth,  fame,  titles, 
honors,  are  the  shadow,  love  the  substance." 

••  I  shall  be  sure  to  teach  them  so,  for  I  believe  it,"  re- 
marked sweet,  wise  Fve. 

"I  was  always  weaker  than  a  woman,"  declared  Violet, 
with  a  proud,  sad  smile.  "I  flung  a  trea.su re  from  me  and 
lost  it.  Now  I  have  everything  that  in  my  wildest  dreams 
1  ever  longed  for.  I  wear  a  coronet  ;  the  world  lies  at  my 
feet,  and  with  it  all,  when  I  wake  sometimes  my  pillow  is 
wet  with  tears,  for  my  heart  is  lonely,  and  will  be  lonely 
until  I  die.  Still  I  have  made  my  own  cho: 

Felix  saw  a  beautiful  Sevres  vase  on  the  table  near  which 
she  stood  ;  it  held  a  spray  of  lilac. 

41  You  retain  your  love'for  the  old  home  flowers."  he  said. 

She  took  the  lilac  from  the  vase,  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 

"I  keep  them  near  me  always,"  she  said.  "  when  ihe\ 
in  bloom.     Do  you  remember   the  lilac  bush,  s  at  home, 
Felix  ?" 

Yes,  he  remembered  them— and  how  he  had  sunVn'd   the 
bitterness  of  death  while  the   wet  branches  wa 
his  head. 

Then  she  asked   some  questions  about  their  h 
their  home  life. 

M  You  are  very  happy,  "ahe  said.     -Tell  me  that,  it  will 

be  the  plcasaiitest  thin:.-  1  can  hear." 

"Yes,"  replied  Felix,  "wear*  very  happy.*1 
She  drew  a  costly  uin-  from  her  finger. 
"  Fve,"  she  said,  "  \var  this  for  mj 

M  much  if  you  refused.     Now    put   your  arms   around 

my  neck— you,'  the  true  wife  of  a  true  man  -and 


272  WEAKER  THAN  A  WOMAN. 

Say  '  Good -by,  Violet. '  I  never  hear  my  own  name  now, 
and  I  am  tired  of  titles." 

Felix  held  her  hand  one  minute  in  his  own. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said.  "  In  the  midst  of  your  happy  life  do 
not  quite  forget  me  ;  try  to  remember  me  as  you  knew  me 
years  ago — not  as  you  know  me  now. " 

And  they  went  away,  leaving  her,  in  the  midst  of  her 
desolate  splendor,  with  the  spray  of  lilac  in  her  hand. 

[THE  END.1 


